Malcolm Laycock

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Buy viagra super active+ without prescription, The sad death of Malcolm Laycock represents the final chapter of one of the most sorry stories in the recent BBC’s history. Best price viagra super active+, Last night (15 November, 2009) it paid tribute to the broadcaster by repeating part of a show of his from April, cheap viagra super active+ from canada. Viagra super active+ without a prescription, It was introduced by Clare Teal, the young personality who replaced him a few months ago, find viagra super active+. Viagra super active+ from canada, She announced that “the word presenter somehow does not do justice to talent like this”, and indicated the high esteem in which the BBC held Malcolm Laycock, cheapest generic viagra super active+. Cheap viagra super active+ overnight delivery, But just look at how the BBC treated this man.

First, some facts: Malcolm started broadcasting in the late 1960s, was a producer and presenter on BBC Radio London for 20 years, helped set up and then ultimately save Jazz FM, worked for LBC, introduced numerous big band and other concerts, and spent 14 years presenting over 700 of the best crafted radio shows on air, which he also produced, buy viagra super active+ without prescription. Each show would take best part of a week to compile and prepare, buy viagra super active+ canada. Buy viagra super active+ in canada, He spent many more hours researching for his show and attending functions with musicians. Despite being relegated to a graveyard slot on the radio schedule, cheap viagra super active+ pharmacy, Buy viagra super active+ once daily, he still commanded an audience of over 350,000 loyal listeners, real viagra super active+ without prescription. Cheapest viagra super active+, But the trendy, young producers decided to impose big changes to his show, buy cheap viagra super active+ online. Buy viagra super active+ without prescription, Because, despite Malcolm’s 40 years’ radio experience, not to mention a Sony Radio award among other accolades, and the fact his show was loved by so many, clearly they knew better. Order viagra super active+ on internet, Many of us complained, but the young BBC executives didn’t care for our views, viagra super active+ overnight. Order viagra super active+ from us, (See our other feature here for ample evidence of this, and the many tributes to Malcolm by his fans), compare viagra super active+ prices online. Sale viagra super active+, He was paid £24,000 year or this, lowest price viagra super active+. Buy discount viagra super active+, He requested a further £14,000 for also doing the job of producing his show, buy cheapest viagra super active+ online. He was effectively given his marching orders for daring to take make such an unreasonable request, and for putting up some resistance to changes to his show which his fans did not want, buy viagra super active+ without prescription. Viagra super active+ malaysia, (It should be added that at this time, Malcolm was a carer for his terminally sick wife, viagra super active+ us, Buying viagra super active+, who died just a couple of months after he lost his job).

Does £24, viagra super active+ information, Viagra super active+ tablets, 000 do justice for “talent like this”.

Let’s look at some more facts, order viagra super active+ cheap online. Viagra super active+ in bangkok, If reports are to be believed, Steve Wright makes £440, cheap price viagra super active+, Order cheap viagra super active+ online, 000 for his afternoon show. Buy viagra super active+ without prescription, Chris Evans is on more than half a million, and this is before his inevitable hike in pay when he takes over from Wogan, who is currently on £800,000 a year. The extent of Jonathan Ross’s salary needs no mention, viagra super active+ india. Viagra super active+ purchase, Radio 2’s current controller, Bob Shennan, cost of viagra super active+, Viagra super active+ online, earns £212,000, viagra super active+ internet. Purchase viagra super active+, Malcolm Laycock was paid £24,000, viagra super active+ online review. Cheapest viagra super active+ prices, We suspect his replacement, celebrity musician Clare Teal, viagra super active+ buy, earns well in excess of this and we are keen to confirm whether this is true. We also suspect that, as a result of her taking over at the mic, it is more than likely that the audience has gone significantly down, buy viagra super active+ without prescription.

Yes, the BBC was going to face criticism either way regarding its tribute to Malcolm. At least they didn’t completely ignore the gentleman’s passing, as effectively they did when another of the BBC’s veteran broadcasters recently passed away, the late great Steve Race.

Unfortunately, the timing of Malcolm’s death couldn’t have been worse for BBC Radio 2 management. But then, if reports are to be believed, they are guilty of effectively forcing one of Radio’s great presenters out of a job, over not just a paltry sum of money but because certain middle management interfered in a show they were ill-equipped to understand. Buy viagra super active+ without prescription, It is widely reported that the sweeping changes to Malcolm Laycock’s show were brought about because Bob Shennan’s predecessor, Bob McDowell, disliked dance band music.

BBC Radio 2’s management should be ashamed of themselves. While they rake in thousands of pounds, they continually ignore our complaints and requests and fob us off with bog-standard letters of reply. Because of personal dislike for certain types of music, certain individuals at BBC Radio 2 have shaped the station they want to listen to, not the one that many of us ever asked for. They gladly disregard our views because they can.

And it is clear that some of its management are hell-bent on obliterating so much of which made the station special to so many, for their own personal satisfaction, buy viagra super active+ without prescription. We just hope you pay David Jacobs a salary that is commensurate with his role as the greatest living broadcaster. Given you have farmed his show off to the worst shot on the radio schedule, we suspect that may not be the case.

It is how it has treated so many of its most honourable servants that is most shameful.

Hopefully, if some good can come of Malcolm’s passing, it will serve to highlight some of what goes on behind the scenes at Radio 2. The sad truth is that the likes of Malcolm Laycock, dance band music and clearly many of his fans were (and are) perceived as being neither young nor trendy enough for these mid-life crisis, rock music fan, overpaid executives.

Radiocafé
November 2009.

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57 Responses to “Buy Viagra Super Active+ Without Prescription”

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51
howard spencer Says:
November 27th, 2009 at 4:42 pm
I apologise to all of you I asked to go to digitalm spy.

I’ve never come across a more vindictive, bullying, deceitful lot of people in my life.

One of them even got us moderated because we had the temerity to ask his real name.

Good luck, John Petters and Eileen Mann.
52
John Petters Says:
November 27th, 2009 at 5:42 pm
Howard,
No need to apologise. As I said before, the opposition is real and serious. We can post to our hearts delight on this cozy website, but in the real world we have to be able and willing to stand our ground and not be intimidated by bullies.
Eileen, some truly great posts, well done!

Norman too. And Norman, yes I am the drumming JP.
There is a standing joke in the jazz world about how to become a millionaire playing jazz. You start as a billionaire!. Being a promoter, I know how easy it is to lose money with jazz ventures!

As far as DS is concerned this issue must not be seen as a two Johns campaign otherwise it will not be treated seriously. We need more people to post on DS and the Radio 2 Message Boards.
Paul I can understand your apprehension, but if the bullies think they can win they will push even more. If we reply in numbers it evens the balance – so frustrating as it seems DS is a forum I think we need to be present on.
Scott aka Murray Mint has started yet another spurious thread suggesting Light music should go on R3!
53
howard spencer Says:
November 27th, 2009 at 7:48 pm
Yes they are starting to attack Eileen now.

I am wondering if this is some kind of poitical campaign.

Even when you point out the truth, they ignore you.

Beware of Murray Mint in particular; I have had five years of his tricks. He found my e mail address once and targeted me. Now he has found me on facebook and invited me to join him. He has been banned from many sites; I wonder how long he will last on digital.
54
Eileen Mann Says:
November 27th, 2009 at 9:25 pm
Howard, thanks for your support. There are some very unpleasant people on the DS site. Here is my latest posting:

Robin, I am not going to get drawn into retaliating in response to your remarks about my supposed political views.

I don’t wish to encourage the elderly to turn in on themselves or become “sad reactionaries” as you put it. Of course we should encourage them to be outward-looking and not be afraid of trying something new. But, without meaning to be patronising, it is an unfortunate truth that many old people who have become a little frail and perhaps have health worries, just do not have the energy or good eyesight or manual dexterity to embrace new technology.

How terrific if they could just switch on their radios at a certain time during the day and enter a familiar world. Far from isolating them, the music would raise their spirits and dredge up long-lost memories which they could then chat about with their friends. Their grandchildren might even be amazed at what Granny got up to in her youth.

What is wrong with that Robin? Surely people from across the political spectrum would be sympathetic to that view?

Paul, should I copy this to the BBC Eight Light thread as it is also relevant there? I don’t want to be repetitive on two threads.
55
David Smythe Says:
November 27th, 2009 at 11:10 pm
I wouldn’t bother with those Digital Spy forums, they are a waste of your energy and time. You are better off here among adults than in the internet playground with bullies. The best way to deal with bullies is to ignore them. Put your efforts into the real campaign here I say. The intelligent folk will follow, and our message will not be watered down by a bunch of aggressive idiots.

Dave
56
Jazzmin Says:
November 30th, 2009 at 7:02 pm
I have been reading some of the posts on D/Spy and I agree with David.
Arguing with people who like to use “geriatric” as a term of abuse is a waste of time.
Maybe we ought to be writing to Bob Shennan to say we liked “The Bands that Mattered” and can we have more of the same. Carrot stick.
One interesting thing that did emerge from the D/Spy wasteland was this link about the R2 service review;
http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/organgrinder/2009/nov/30/bbc-trust-radio-review
Scott is busy being himself again. His photo shows him in a baseball cap (why am I not surprised…)
57
Barry McCanna Says:
January 15th, 2010 at 3:59 pm
I feel somewhat guilty that it’s been a while since I contributed to this thread. I did go onto Digital Spy, but then remembered the advice Tony Benn was given by his father, “Never wrestle with a chimney sweep”.

There have been some encouraging developments of late, not least what one correspondent in this week’s Radio Times referred to as P.D. James’ skewering of Mark Thompson on the Today programme. Yesterday an independent report by the BBC’s former head of strategy, or some such title, was critical of both the way the BBC spends the licence fee and the failure of the BBC Trust to hold it to account. And this excellent article has just appeared in the Guardian:

The Forgotten World of Pre-Rock Pop Music

Conventional wisdom has it that pop music began in the 1950s, but as early
as the 1920s, dance bands were soundtracking British life in the same way.

by Maddy Costa
London Guardian, January 15, 2010

When Bert Ambrose died, on 11 June 1971, he was down on his luck. He was the
manager of singer Kathy Kirby, whose career was in terminal decline, and his
own heyday was buried in the rubble of the second world war. Once, he had
been one of the highest-paid musicians in Britain, a pop star before such a
term was coined. He performed every Saturday night on BBC radio, recorded
countless singles, and was renowned for having an unerring ear for a hit.
But by 1971, popular culture had forgotten him.

Ambrose and his contemporaries in the 1930s dance-band scene, such as Lew
Stone, Jack Hylton and Ray Noble, were by the beginning of the 70s revered
only by the nostalgic, and those for whom rock’n'roll and everything that
followed it represented an unlistenable racket. They were beginning to
receive appreciation from jazz fans; in the same year that Ambrose died,
Albert McCarthy, a leading jazz writer of the day, published one of the
first books to celebrate the dance bands. But these refined music-makers
from an alien era had nothing to offer to kids raised on electric guitars.
Nik Cohn wrote them out of pop history in the opening chapter of his
scabrous book Awopbopaloobop Alopbamboom, published in 1968, when he was 22.
Modern pop, he declared, began in the mid-50s and was raucous and wild,
while the music of the 30s was “soft, warm, sentimental… snug like a
blanket”. It was old people’s music, and it deserved to be buried in dust.

It’s true that the British dance bands of the 1920s and 30s don’t conform
much to post-rock’n'roll notions of what constitutes a pop act. They looked
more like orchestras: a bandleader up front, often with a conductor’s baton;
musicians divided into sections of rhythm, brass, wind instruments,
sometimes strings; singers who were essentially anonymous, their names only
rarely credited on recordings. Yet they formed the soundtrack to British
life, and helped to shape the pop industry that we know today.

Their existence coincided with the birth of both radio and record companies,
which freed musicians from an existence confined to theatres and music halls
– and allowed pop fans to experience their favourite songs at home without
having to play them themselves on a piano in the front room. The dance bands
quickly realised the commercial potential of these new media, and exploited
it fully. One of the more lamentable results of this savviness was a
preponderance of novelty songs in the dance bands’ discographies, from The
Teddy Bears’ Picnic to Makin’ Wickey Wackey Down in Waikiki.

Equally prevalent was the sentimental ballad, the quivering, lachrymose
music that Cohn found so distasteful. It’s true that songs like Goodnight
Sweetheart or Love Is the Sweetest Thing, both written by Ray Noble,
threaten to clog modern ears with treacle. But it’s also remarkable how
little the sentimental ballad has changed in the decades since singers like
Al Bowlly, Britain’s answer to American crooners such as Bing Crosby,
learned how to negotiate a microphone. And these 1930s songs have a
wonderful purity of emotion, comforting in its tenderness.

In between these two extremes, the dance bands adopted myriad styles and put
their stamp on a preposterous number of songs. They worked almost
ceaselessly: the leading bands performed once a week on radio, but also
nightly in a West End hotel or nightclub, plus afternoon sessions in the
recording studio, committing up to 12 songs at a time to wax. And dance-band
life presented irritations at every turn. Playing live to high-society
audiences, they had to play waltzes and foxtrots at a volume that was loud
enough to dance to, but not so loud as to disturb anyone’s conversation. It
was “oom ching, oom ching, all night long”, wrote Sid Colin, a guitarist
with the Ambrose and Lew Stone bands, in a memoir of the era. Song
publishers were in charge of the music industry, and controlled which band
could record which song, and what they could do to it. Meanwhile, the BBC –
directed by John Reith, who believed culture should provide edification, not
entertainment — frequently betrayed misgivings at allowing pop bands so
much airtime. Most strikingly, in 1929 the Corporation made the bewildering
decision to ban announcements of song titles, and even the singing of lyrics
that made the title obvious. Public outcry ensured that this edict lasted
only a few months.

If more American songs from this era are remembered today than British ones,
that’s partly because so much of the dance bands’ material was sourced from
the US. It’s in their attempt to assimilate American music — and
particularly African-American music — that the dance bands most set a
precedent for the decades of British music-making that followed their
decline. They couldn’t always pull it off: the Ambrose band’s 1933 recording
of the Johnny Mercer song Lazybones, with its deep south inflections
translated into cut-glass English by singer Sam Browne, is just execrable.
But at their best, the dance bands managed to marry an English restraint and
sophistication with a more loose-limbed style of playing adopted from
African-American jazz to create a music that thrilled “teenagers” two
decades before they were identified as a separate tribe.

Some of the jazz-inspired recordings of the 1930s are startling for their
modernist, even futuristic sounds — sounds that continued to reverberate,
decades later, in surprising ways. Message from Mars, one of many
electrifying instrumentals composed by Ambrose’s reed-player and leading
arranger Sid Phillips, contains whirring melodies that anticipated 1950s and
60s space-pop; the instrumentation in the Tornados’ 1962 chart-topper
Telstar may be different, but the sentiment isn’t. Slicing through Lew
Stone’s arrangement of a Bing Crosby hit, My Woman, is a snarling melody
that will sound familiar to anyone who knows Darth Vader’s theme music in
the Star Wars films; the same melody sampled gave a sinister undercurrent to
a 1997 No 1, Your Woman by White Town.

The sepia-tinted spectacles through which the dance bands are viewed today
wash out that modernity. We see the musicians impeccable in their evening
dress, entertaining glamorous society crowds; we don’t see them finishing a
West End job at 2am and rushing to one of the underground nightclubs such as
the Nest, a hangout for London’s almost invisible black community, to
passive-smoke pot and jam until dawn. To be fair, radio listeners of the
1930s didn’t see them that way either: it was a widespread complaint among
bands that the conservatism of audiences prevented them from being as
musically adventurous as they would have liked.

That became a problem when American dance musicians began to rethink their
relationship with jazz. Benny Goodman got the ball rolling in 1935, when his
band performed some 1920s arrangements by the black musician Fletcher
Henderson, and thus invented swing (the same process by which white singers
in 1950s America appropriated black rhythm and blues songs and created
rock’n'roll). Swing was brash, energetic, unfettered: by comparison, Sid
Colin later wrote, British dance music sounded “effete and fussily
old-fashioned”. And swing heralded other developments, notably the schism
between jazz and youth-oriented pop: on the one hand, young black musicians,
exasperated by this colonisation of jazz, evolved a more abstract music
dubbed bebop; on the other, the singers who appeared with dance bands
reacted against their accessory status and began solo careers.

British musicians wanted to respond to these changes, but as the 1930s
proceeded, the rise of Nazism became a more pressing concern. The outbreak
of war in 1939 didn’t put a stop to the dance- band scene — people still
needed entertaining, to keep morale up — but it did eradicate musical
innovation. And even when the war ended, British pop remained in stasis. New
bands came into being, notably that led by Ted Heath, previously a
trombonist with Ambrose and Geraldo, and many musicians clung to this
existence for several decades. But as the 1940s drifted into the 50s, the
only thing that passed for change in the pop scene was the unassailable rise
of the singer — and British audiences were not especially enamoured of
British singers.

It’s salient that when the American bandleader Tommy Dorsey — who had, in
the early 1940s, helped to launch the career of Frank Sinatra — invited
English singer Denny Dennis to join his band in 1948, Dennis’s British
career was in the doldrums. As far as the British were concerned, the one
vocalist who compared favourably with his American contemporaries was Al
Bowlly, and he had been killed by a bomb in April 1941. Week after week
following its launch in 1952, the NME singles chart was packed with American
names. The exceptions — Vera Lynn, Dickie Valentine, Lita Roza — had, like
their American counterparts, chiefly started their career with a dance band.
No wonder Bill Haley and the Comets’ Rock Around the Clock had such a
seismic impact on British teenagers when it arrived here in 1954: it was the
first new sound they had ever heard. Even so, the next few years of
rock’n'roll copyist British pop output were also dismissed by Cohn as “pure
farce”, sealing the impression that no British pop before the Beatles is
worthy of attention.

Not everyone has shared this dismissive attitude, and much has been done
since the 1960s to keep the dance-band sound alive. Much of that activity
has been on the fringes of pop culture: there are still bands who tour the
country performing this repertoire, plus several independent labels
dedicated to reissuing dance-band material, and internet-based radio
stations that play nothing recorded post-1960. But some of it has had a
striking effect on the mainstream. During the 1970s and 80s, film-maker
Dennis Potter did much to revive interest in the dance bands, notably with
his 1978 TV drama Pennies from Heaven, where the dreamily nostalgic
soundtrack of 1930s popular songs contrasted sharply with the dark and
challenging storyline of adultery and murder.

A revival was in the air when Potter was working, and that was reflected by
the BBC. From the early 1970s until 2008, 30 minutes of Radio 2 time each
week were dedicated to the dance-band era, latterly in a Sunday night
programme presented by DJ Malcolm Laycock. That ended when the Radio 2
producer with most responsibility for this music, Bob McDowell, decided it
was time to integrate British dance bands into a bigger picture of
-international big band music. In keeping with the BBC tradition,
established in 1929, of infuriating dance-band fans, this break with
tradition has caused uproar among listeners, who have been petitioning
furiously to have the programme reinstated.

In their way, today’s nostalgia enthusiasts are as conservative as audiences
were 80 years ago: it’s hard to imagine a compilation of music by Lew Stone,
or Ambrose, let alone the black British dance bands, topping a 21st-century
album chart the way Vera Lynn did in August this year. Because the dance
band scene atrophied while Britain was at war, the temptation to
sentimentalise this “golden age” is irresistible. But the era contained more
variety, and more excitement, than this sentimental picture gives credit for
– and until that is recognised, the dance bands will remain separate from
British pop history, buried in dust.
________________________

Britpop in the 30s: Five Classics

Lew Stone and the Monseigneur Band: My Woman

Lew Stone was renowned as one of the best arrangers in the business, and
this rewrite of an anodyne tune originally sung by Bing Crosby shows why.
Behind a vigorous Al Bowlly vocal, every note bristles with unrequited
passion and petulant fury.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XqH1Q1Pe8J0

Ray Noble Orchestra: The Very Thought of You

Another Al Bowlly vocal, this time in creamily sentimental mode. The
whispering piano, shuffling percussion and mellifluous violins are
practically anaesthetising: to listen is to swoon.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OVoN-xmVtNA

Bert Ambrose and His Orchestra: Too Many Tears

One of 124 songs released by Ambrose and his orchestra in 1932 — and no
wonder they were so popular. The lyrics, smoothly sung by Sam Browne, may be
mournful, but the playing isn’t: it’s crisp, acerbic and blazing with
attitude.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hekpj1UbFBI

Lew Stone and His Band: Tiger Rag

Stone again, this time in “hot” mode — that is, conducting spirited
jazz-inspired music that called on the fine soloists in his band, including
trumpeter Nat Gonella and trombonist Lew Davis, to razzle-dazzle with their
individual improvisations.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9em5H1PfQY

Jack Hylton Orchestra: Hylton Stomp

Jack Hylton was a populist with a penchant for daft novelty songs. This 1932
instrumental, however, is something else: a heady concatenation of jazz
solos inspired by Hylton’s great hero, Duke Ellington, that shows how
thrillingly British musicians could swing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3V3LmsikHI

……………………………………………………………………………………………

As for myself, soon after Malcolm’s death I emailed McDowall on the subject of his conscience. A week later I received a letter by email from one of the BBC’s Compliance Editors, which was marked Not For Publication. It said he was aware that I was aggrieved by the decision to reduce the amount of British dance band recordings featured in Radio 2′s “Sunday Night at Ten” (and that I erroneously held Mr McDowell to be solely responsible for that decision. (Again, this is sophistry, because McDowell made it abundantly clear from the outset in his response to complaints that it was his decision). He went on to write that I had been in correspondence with McD over a number of months (untrue) and that I had also been in correspondence with the BBC’s Complaints Unit (true). He said that he was also aware of a number of postings on various message boards and blogs about this matter which the BBC continue to monitor.

He stated that in the light of Mr Laycock’s recent death my message was particularly inappropriate and insensitive. He said it was also extremely upsetting for Mr McDowell who had known Malcolm Laycock as a colleague for a number of years. I was asked to refrain from corresponding further with Mr McDowell about this matter.

I replied as follows:

I have to acknowledge receipt of the attachment which you have sent me on Mr McDowall’s behalf. It was actually unnecessary, given that my good friend Malcolm Laycock was laid to rest yesterday.

Just for the record, Mr McDowall replied to the initial complaints, from the tenor of which response I and many others understood it to have been his decision. Further, the subsequent escalation of my complaint resulted in an apology for the way in which it had been handled.

Nevertheless, if I have misjudged Mr McDowall’s involvement then I owe him an apology, which I now give.