Fresh from winning a Golden Globe for his portrayal of media tycoon Logan Roy, the actor talks about class, cannabis and an odd royal encounter
Doing an interview over the phone can be a thankless job: lines get crossed, you awkwardly interrupt one another and, without the intimacy of a face to face encounter, it’s hard to get a sense of the other person. But doing a phone interview with Brian Cox – the acclaimed actor, that is, not the pop-star-turned-particle-physicist with the same name – is such a hoot that if we met in person I would have probably dissolved into a puddle of hysteria.
“No, no, not now, I’m having an important conversation!” he barks when someone has the temerity to try to enter his hotel room 45 minutes into our chat. “So where was I? Ah yes …” And he launches back into the anecdote about the time Princess Margaret felt him up. The man has so much charisma – and so many anecdotes – to burn, I can practically feel my phone melting against my face. Continue reading →
“You Wear It Well” is a song written by Rod Stewart and Martin Quittenton, It utilizes an arrangement markedly similar to that of “Maggie May.”
The Faces’ lineup in 1972 clip above included: Ian McLagan (keyboards), Ronnie Lane (bass guitar, vocals), and Kenney Jones (drums and percussion), Ronnie Wood (guitar), Martin Quittenton (classical guitar), and of course Rod Stewart on vocals.
Notable in the video is the exceptional fiddle playing of Dick “Tricky Dicky” Powell.
Stewart recorded “You Wear It Well” for the 1972 album Never a Dull Moment, and released it as a single on 12 August. The song became an international hit, reaching number one on the UK Singles Chart. In the US, “You Wear It Well” peaked at number 13 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.
“Maggie May” has all the rock radio glory, but “Mandolin Wind” is every bit its equal, as effective a mixture of British folk and American rock (or, for that matter, American folk and British rock) as Fairport Convention’s best work from the same period. Although the song never rises beyond a midtempo stroll, even during the comparatively rocking fadeout, it’s nevertheless a masterpiece of dynamics. Almost entirely acoustic, the arrangement adds and subtracts instruments in waves, culminating in the thrilling wash of Martin Quittenton’s mandolins in the final instrumental break. Over this, Stewart sings quite possibly the most emotionally direct lyrics of his career; sung from the point of view of an aging rural husband, it’s a simple, sweet declaration of love and fidelity that’s about a hundred times more believable than later efforts like “You’re in My Heart.” – AMG
The identity of the mandolin player on “Mandolin Wind” is unclear. The liner notes state that “the mandolin was played by the mandolin player in Lindisfarne” but that Rod Stewart had forgotten his name. In 2003, Ray Jackson claimed to be the mandolin player on the album, at least for the song “Maggie May.” Jackson is the mandolin player from English folk-rock band Lindisfarne. Other sources say the madolin is played by Martin Quittenton.
Surely it can’t do my internal organs any good to be slopping about like that?
It’s January. The joggers are out.
Not the ones you see all year but the ones who decide to give it a go. They look different to the real ones. You can spot them a mile off. They look like someone who’s been trapped down a well for nine years, then suddenly released. They’ve forgotten how to move normally. The light hurts their eyes.
Jogging is awful. When I jog I can feel my whole skeletal frame crashing around inside my body, like a chicken carcass being thrown down a stairwell.
Surely it can’t do my internal organs any good to be slopping about like that? I can feel my kneecap gristle being ground down like ginger biscuits being hit with a mallet. I can feel my brain knocking against my skull like a turnip in a bowl of milk. It honestly feels like my eyes might dislodge. It’s just not worth it. But before I can even start thinking about jogging, there’s the preparation. Because I can’t just throw on a T-shirt and grab my keys like David Gandy might. No.
First of all my boobs have to be strapped down against my chest like I’m transporting two dozen eggs on the roof-rack of a car.
Then I need those special small socks that you can’t see with the human eye. Then I need to scrape all my hair up into a ponytail, making me look like someone’s drawn a face on a balloon. Then I need to take all my make-up off and pray I don’t see anyone for fear of them tweeting “Oh my God, Diane Morgan must’ve died, because I just saw her cold dead corpse running down the high street.”
Then I put on my embarrassing jogging bottoms that I bought only because they have a zip-up pocket where I can keep the front door key. Otherwise, where do you put it?
Do you swallow it? Or run around clutching it?
Anyway, the jogging bottoms have FITNESS PRO written across the arse. I know. It didn’t seem that bad when I bought them but now I may as well have a badge saying “ARSEHOLE”.
By now it’s almost time to go to bed, but I can’t just run around to the sound of my own sad, plodding footsteps, I have to have music. I like to have quite filmy music. Dramatic. Inspiring. Maybe the theme from Hitchcock’s Vertigo – something like that. So that when I inevitably collapse in an underpass I can’t hear my own pathetic wheezing, and instead I can pretend to be Kim Novak. A sweaty, red-faced Kim Novak in a Reebok hoodie, quietly having an asthma attack.
I finally leave the house. It’s icy cold, but I comfort myself with the fact that before long I’ll feel like I’m being boiled alive in my own sweat.
I start plodding. I immediately get a stitch, as if my body is saying, “Who do you think you are, Paula Radcliffe?”
I aim to do 20 minutes. Walking still counts if you’re wearing sports stuff. OK, 10 minutes and then I’ll head back. I’m pretty sure it’s still doing me good. I pass a group of teenagers. I try to look as if I’ve just finished a five-mile jog.
When I get home I feel great when it’s finally all over, because it’s finally all over and my body is thanking Christ it’s finally all over.
I see other people jogging like it’s easy. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Needless to say I get shin splints. If you’ve never heard of shin splints I’ll save you the Google – it’s bits of bone splintering off your shin. Happy now?
Anyway I hope I haven’t put you off? I’m sure it’ll be different for you. Happy new year.