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Another Saturday, another beat the heat early morning walk around the Estuary Wilds. It was already pretty unrelenting shortly before 8 am. I had in sight the usual 10 km round route. Never disrupt an OCD-friendly bang on the money 10 km route.

The rowing club were preparing to launch as I walked past the sailing club. A little further downstream and our friendly rivals, Defiance, were already out on an early morning training row.

The incoming tide was approaching at quite a pace. I picked up my own pace as I made my way through the relatively cooler shaded area along the sea wall.

I reached White House Beach. It looked like an overnight party was being slept off. There were a couple of hammocks strung out across some trees with a load of tinnies from the night before.

Chin chin.

The Creek was reached. It was a little more sedate around here. There was a low key friendly breakfast boat situation developing. One of the fine yachts seemed to have become the social hub for the local area as breakfast was taken on board.

The second half of the walk was less scenic but functional as I pounded the mean streets of Alresford and made my way back down to Wivenhoe.

In Discarded Santa Costume News: The discarded Santa costume is still available for free outside someone’s house in Alresford. This has been the case for the past three weeks.

Same again next week, Comrades.

I bloody loved the BBC’s Prog Proms. That’s something I would never thought I would find myself saying.

It is unashamedly uplifting, spiritual music that remains completely pompous, especially with all the power of the mighty BBC Symphony Orchestra behind it.

There was still an emotional element there in the song choice and the complexity in which the orchestra organised each song selection.

I’m undergoing something of my own summer of prog right now. I had to bite the bullet and just dive in at a random junction. Prog is so utterly bonkers that there is no easy path in which to safely navigate your entry point. Just pick some prog and bloody play it.

There was only one place however for the BBC Prog Proms to start: ELP’s Fanfare for the Common Man was the bombastic opener that the concert needed. It was only at the end of the track that I realised that Carl Palmer was the rather youthful dude who was holding it all together behind the drum kit.

The Genesis Wardrobe song is another track that has been daintily enlivening my summer of prog in recent weeks. It was a joy to hear this, even with Guy Garvey taking the vocals, a voice that I’ve never really warmed to.

Northern Lights then followed. This was a little too folky for my liking but it was delicately done with Jane Weaver hitting all the right high notes.

I’m not sure that Nights in White Satin is strictly a prog song. I loved Soft Machine’s slight jazz detour; Tubular Bells of course which was a cliché that had to be included.

The highlight for me was Van der Graaf Generator and Refugees. This is completely new to me. I knew nothing of the band apart from the name. Up stepped the old boy Peter Hammill to deliver what was a highly emotional and very timely performance.

Oh yeah - I wasn’t expecting Gruff from the Super Furries to out himself as a prog-believer.

So that was the BBC Proms. There’s always been a prog element to my music, etc. I reckon I was born a decade too late.

SHOUT OUT to the Cool as Fuck prog dude who was conducting the orchestra.

The haul from my recent trip to my favourite secondhand CD shop only returned a couple of CDs, but they’re both good ‘uns.

I found myself in Frinton on Sea with half an hour to spare. What’s a boy about town to do? Hey! Let’s go and spunk some money in the wonderful charity shop record store.

The Frinton shop is very well organised. It’s not just A to Z, but the way the CD’s are put with a spine laid out so they’re poking you in the face. It’s a shame I forgot my specs and so I couldn’t whizz through at greater speed.

It’s a slight step above the usual charity shop crap. Think less Cliff Richard, more Leonard Cohen, which was exactly the direction I went in.

I managed to pick up Leonard’s The Future CD. I think this was the follow-up to I’m Your Man, his absolute late 1980s classic. Not bad for just £2.

Following on from the C’s I moved over and then stumbled again on the O’s and picked up Mike Oldfield’s Five Miles Out. I’ve got this on vinyl but I rarely play it. I do love the title track, as well as the original of Family Man.

I did ponder over a Julie London triple CD. Mmmm, I thought, have I already got this? A quick shifty back at base confirms that I have.

They also had some incredibly reasonably priced CD players. These are getting hard as a source. If my Demon ever packs up on me then another trip to the seaside could be on the cards.

To the Sunshine Coast! ..,.on Friday morning. We were both free for the remainder of the day. The weather was set fair and we had kms in our legs to walk off.

We weren’t alone in our thinking. Quite randomly we were joined on the short train journey by C and J, and their charming and very well-behaved granddaughter. It was a pleasant ride in as the choo choo made its way through the rolling golden fields of north Essex.

Destination Walton on the Naze was reached. The plan was there was no plan, apart from buy CDs and then bugger off back home.

But how about a little bit of walking first? Ahh, but which direction?

We had two broad options: Heading towards the Naze, or the opposite direction, Frinton on Sea bound.

Frinton bound is where the main CD action is. Guess which option I preferred.

A rogue third option soon came into play. There was brave talk of heading towards Clacton to see what kind of crap was happening with the shitty by-election.

We decided to give that one a swerve when, as soon as we left Walton Station, a couple of Reform dickheads doing the door knocking thing walked past us. It’s a shame they didn’t ask me for my opinion on an election I have absolutely no chance of voting in.

The first stop was the Walton On The Naze record shop. This is bloody impressive. It never seems that busy but they have a fantastic stock of both vinyl and CDs.

I never really had any intention of buying anything, which always makes it awkward. The prices are very competitive but the CDs are packaged away with a plastic wrapper. This makes browsing a little tricky. We lingered around for about five minutes and then said our thank yous and departed.

“Do you want to go into The Cave?”

…asked my walking partner. The Cave seemed to be a glorified second-hand shop. I was kind of interested, and then I noticed the proprietor of The Cave poke his head out of the door and pulled a greenie on the pavement. The dirty dog. I think we’ll give The Cave a swerve this time.

The beach at Walton-on-the-Naze was already starting to get busy with holidaying young families. There was even a very enthusiastic barbecue taking place shortly after 11 am. I’m not quite sure if that is allowed with the bylaws.

The weather was a little fresher by the coast. There was still plenty of bare flesh on offer. One fella in particular had a massive anarchy sign tattooed all the way across his chest. I’m a big fan of black ink but I won’t be making a mental note to ask my tattoo man to repeat this styling.

We headed out towards the Naze Tower. This involved the glorious stretch where I get to have Art Deco house envy. One was actually up for sale. A quick google, and yep it’s way out of my price range.

We reached our favourite cliffside café. Tea and cake were taken. I was quite content. I could quite happily have then turned back and headed back to base.

There was ambitious talk of heading up the Naze Tower. A local art exhibition was taking place. The £4.50 price tag put off the tight arse within.

We then walked all the way back through Walton and headed over towards Frinton on Sea. I had just enough time before the train departed again to spend half an hour or so in my favourite second-hand record shop.

There wasn’t a great deal of action with new stock. I did manage, however to pick up a Leonard Cohen CD as well as a Mike Oldfield, all for £4, all in.

A decent jolly’s day out.

Here’s an uplifting burst of spontaneity and joyous sound to start your Friday morning: The Drums, by… Spontaneous Music. It’s just dropped on the International Anthems label.

As ever with most things musically that are inspiring me right now, this came via the always excellent Late Junction. Even an experimental late night radio show would struggle to squeeze in the 24 minutes or so of jump around noise.

I was hooked in by the Late Junction snippet. A quick online shifty later and soon I had the full glorious 24 minutes at my disposal.

It was the perfect working partner for the early morning Friday shift. Five minutes in and I was grinning. Come the full 24 minutes later and I was buzzing off me tits.

Disclaimer: That might have been something to do with the five cups of tea I managed to down before 7:30 a.m.

Never judge an album by its cover, etc. The Bandcamp image suggests some scary Ginger Baker style drum-off shit. But that’s not the case as the track emerges.

I’m no musicologist but there are plenty of blowy things being blown all over the bloody place. The crashing drums hold it all together.

I bloody love how this type of music is so instantly available to you these days. Three decades ago and sure you could have heard this on the radio, but then it would have taken a real effort IRL to seek it out and take a punt on it in the analogue world.

I don’t want to work, I want to bang on my drum all day, as the song goes.

You’d struggle to describe or even define what type of music Tom Waits makes. Pretty much like The Fall or even Ivor Cutler, he’s completely unclassifiable. Tom Waits is a one-off, a unique sound that either you adore or he gets on your tits. I fall in the former category.

Small Change sees him raconteuring at his finest. I’ve still no idea what he’s banging on about, but I love the cut of his jib and the way that he is just able to reel off endless words. They somehow all hang together without giving me an overall narrative. The late night jazz vibes help. You can almost smell the nicotine rising above you from some dingy basement club just by listening to this.

I often get the feeling he’s taking the piss, both out of himself and the audience, but I don’t care. It’s outsider music that no one else is making

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Cheaper buses but more bombs from Burnham

via Morning Star

An interactive exhibition of Zang Tuum Tumb releases. Art, artefact and pop architecture, collected one edition at a time.

The Sound of Perfect

Pleasant but not the masterpiece I was expecting. I was very familiar with the title track, with it being the lead song on a jazz compilation that I used to rinse back in the day. I was hoping for more of the same. Maybe it’s because I’m over familiar with Moanin, but I thought the rest of the album would follow in a similar direction. It kind of does but it loses that late night vibe and particular atmospheric that Moanin generates. I’d certainly play this again, probably as background music when I want to get things done. It’s uplifting, often venturing a little into the jazz over excitable territory. That’s not really where I want to be. I want the Moanin laid back vibes.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I find it hard to write anything meaningful about a jazz album. I’m still very new to this, I’m still learning. Brilliant Corners is just that. It’s a fantastic record that takes you along different paths. That sounds like arsey jazz wank crap, but the music is so intoxicating and still feels fresh and modern.

Broad sweeping statement alert: I was struggling with music in recent years. I was looking for something new yet couldn’t find it. Reggae kind of filled the gap. I still return to this every now and then but I think jazz is what I was looking for.

I want something which I can listen to whilst working away and being engaged elsewhere, yet still appreciating the power that music can have. Brilliant Corners is just the latest in a long line of recent jazz findings that pretty much hit the spot for me.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

“When I close my eyes now I have a a movie-reel of stunning moments available to me. Anderson - constantly aware, constantly scanning, leading and directing - patrolling all areas of the football pitch as if the other players are just pawns in his game. Anderson isn’t human, he’s superhuman. His sense of the positioning of himself and others constantly updating, cataloguing every step those around him take and performing Rain Man calculations every millisecond to find the angles in which to dart and dance. Anderson is marvelous in the mundane moments and spectacular in the special seconds.”

Tell It Like It Is. Pete Blackburn on Elliot Anderson.