Fabulously Flamboyant Fridays – A Game For All The Family

Welcome back my friends, to the flamboyance that never ends, as Fabulously Flamboyant Friday proudly delivers yet another light-loafered, groin-polished googly from the gasworks end of musical magnificence.

Tonight’s missive, I’m sure you be relieved to hear, will all be done in the best possible taste and will not actually be considering – despite the title – incestuous relationships. Instead we shall take a look at some of the musical families that have in the past, and in some cases still do, actually play with each other.

This has of course been prompted by a recent announcement from the brothers Gallagher, who have decided to bury the hatchet, resurrect some of the worst haircuts in rock n roll history and reform Oasis for what I’m sure will prove to be a highly lucrative jaunt.

The tabloid press will no doubt be hoping for sibling rivalry, familial fireworks and larks-a-plenty on their upcoming tour – and there would seem to be solid grounds for optimism on their part. Liam and Noel have certainly had the occasional flounce in the past, and in fact some of their more spectacular altercations have already become the stuff of rock legend.

Wibbling Rivalry kicked things off in ’95. It was the name given to the release of an audio recording of the brothers captured in a somewhat agitated state. It has been described as 14 minutes of “verbal mayhem” and was quickly followed by “bat gate”, when studio stories emerged of the brothers laying into each other with guitars and a cricket bat (the infamous bat was later auctioned).

Liam then pulled out of a high-profile MTV broadcast due to illness, but allegedly sat in the audience and heckled his brother and band mates throughout the show. Additionally, there have been on-stage arguments, flounces, cancelled shows and even cancelled tours. Noel eventually described his brother as “the angriest man you’ll ever meet… a man with a fork in a world of soup”.

Finally and inevitably, on the 28th of August 2009, The brothers Gallagher went their separate ways and Oasis split up. Noel issued a statement claiming “the level of verbal and violent intimidation towards me, my family, friends and comrades has become intolerable”.

Over the years, the idea of a full band reunion has been oft’ mooted and much pooh-poohed. But, as the old saying goes, never say never again. And so here we are: a full UK tour in the offing and in all probability – as long as they don’t start knocking seven bells out of each other (or looking back in anger, of course) – a highly lucrative world tour will almost certainly follow. It holds no musical interest for me, but it will certainly be interesting to see how this one pans out.

And now for something completely different – something clean, wholesome, very toothsome and in stark behavioural contrast to the manic manc mayhem of Oasis: The Osmonds.

The Osmonds seemed, on the surface at least, to be the perfect family group. Sometimes called ‘the first boy band’ (although this epithet has also been ascribed to the Beatles), I don’t know if that’s an entirely fair accusation: boy bands are usually manufactured affairs, with often little-to-no discernable musical talent. The Osmonds, however, played their own instruments, some of the boys were skilled multi-instrumentalists, they possessed some tremendous vocal talent (Jay and Merrill, in particular, possessed voices that would have graced almost any rock band of the time) and contained within their line up some very talented song writers and producers.

However, it is fair to say the band’s initial success came from their carefully crafted, poptastically wholesome, bubblegum appeal, using shrewdly outsourced song writing and a squeaky clean Mormon image – and the family-friendly image they presented was a very long way from the unbridled hedonism and debauchery associated with much of the devil’s music and the rock ‘n’ roll oeuvre of the time.

Additionally, despite the silly Las Vegas costumes and cheesy Mowtown-style dance routines, the Osmonds were almost – almost – cool. They hung out with Led Zeppelin, John Bonham was allegedly a fan and Crazy Horses had proved they could write, rock and play live with the best of them. There is even a rumour that Led Zep and The Osmonds were very close to performing an on-stage jam during Earl’s Court rehearsals for Zeppelin’s infamous 1975 gigs. Sadly, rock legend has it that Peter Grant (Zep’s manager) stepped in and made damn sure (for the sake of his band’s rock ‘n’ roll credibility) that any such meeting of musical minds most certainly did not take place.

As unlikely as this story sounds, it does have a certain ring of plausibility, mainly because Peter Grant had form for this sort of political manoeuvre. Back in 1973, when Slade were at the height of their fame, Don Powell, Slade’s drummer, was severely injured in a very nasty car crash (Powell was left in a coma and his girlfriend, Angela Morris, was sadly killed). Led Zep’s drummer, John Bonham, apparently offered his tub-thumping services to his fellow west midland’s rock brothers, to cover for the stricken Powell and save Slade’s immanent UK tour. Peter Grant, again for the sake of the Led Zep’s rock ‘n’ roll credibility, is alleged to have stepped in and firmly kiboshed the idea.

If true, this was probably one of rock’s great lost opportunities: the thought of Slade – at the absolute peak of their powers – with John Bonham thundering away behind the kit would have been a truly mouth-watering prospect. In fact, with the hugely talented (and massively under-appreciated) Jimmy Lea on bass, I honestly think (with apologies to Geezer Butler and Bill Ward) that Slade would have had the finest rock rhythm section ever to emerge from the industrial-grade rock ‘n’ roll production lines of the west midlands.

Anyway, I digress. So, let’s get back to our family theme and I think we’ll take a quick look at one of the more unusual aspects of the Osmonds’ career.

Although hugely successful, The Osmonds felt boxed in by their squeaky clean, wholesome family image and started to re-consider their musical direction. After a stream of successful written-to-order saccharine hits, it was Crazy Horses – a track they had written themselves – that had finally seen them break out of their home market and achieve truly international fame; and with this success tucked firmly under their belt, they began work on what they believed would prove to be their magnum opus.

The Mormon faith is of course well known for its missionary zeal. However, the Osmond brothers had attained a level of fame that would make such service entirely impracticable. So they decided to do their missionary bit by capitalizing on their fame and writing a prog-rock concept album that addressed the teachings of the Church of the Latter Day Saints and their beliefs about the purpose of life, the universe and everything.

The album was called The Plan. Most of the material was written by Alan, Wayne and Merrill, and the three brother really went for it, producing an elaborate set of musically diverse songs about their faith. It was a lavish affair, complete with narration, lush orchestral backing and a wide range of styles. It was also it a very big risk and, perhaps unsurprisingly, it didn’t go down at all well with their teenybopper fans.

The boys were rightly proud of their album, but it certainly didn’t fare as well as their previous work. Reviewers panned it for being too serious for their teenage fans and it was generally viewed as a serious error of musical judgment and a massive misfire. The brothers shrugged their shoulders, licked their wounds, learned their lessons and (sadly IMHO) dropped all their prog rock aspirations for the next Osmonds’ album.

However, I’m going to defend The Plan. Is it a great prog rock album? No. Absolutely not. But it was a brave and honest attempt to try something ambitious, something way outside of their comfort zone, and I’m always in favour of artists taking risks. Progressive rock, at its best, challenges the listener to abandon preconceived notions about what an artist can or can’t do, and I think The Osmonds deserve some respect for putting their success and reputation on the line and really having a go. Good on ’em, I say.

The Kings of Leon are a far more contemporary band of brothers, consisting of three siblings (Caleb, Nathan, and Jared Followill) and their cousin Matthew Followill. The band are good ol’ boys from Tennessee (originally formed in 1999) and continue a long and illustrious tradition of splendid hard rockin’ bands from below the Mason-Dixon line – and there’s definitely a #FF article in that topic.

The band’s early music was a blend of traditional southern rock, with a generous dollop of garage rock and southern blues chucked in for good measure. However, their sound has evolved over the years to include inde/alt rock influences.

The band achieved their initial success in the UK, with rave reviews for their first two albums and a string of hit singles. However, by the time of their fourth album, Only by the Night (2008), and their international hit single, “Sex on Fire”, the US and the rest of the world had fully caught up with the Followill family and them good ol’ boys from Tennessee were soon racking up international awards and platinum album for fun.

I rate the band’s first two albums very highly, and am happy to commend them to the house. The next two were pretty decent efforts, with some fine moments, but it feels as if the band have been coasting since then. Many will (an do) disagree with this opinion, with (for example) their most recent album, Can We Please Have Fun (2024) garnering some very positive critical reviews. But, from my perspective at least, there was a raw and youthful exuberance on their early albums that I found particularly pleasing. However, as they’ve become an older and wiser band, this volatile vim and vigour has, for me at least, become somewhat less prevalent.

And so onto The Corrs… well.. um… er… Honestly, I have nothing useful to say. If the blandest food on the blandest planet ever learned to sing, I suspect it would sound like The Corrs. However, three sisters, one brother and well over 40 million album sales – well that’s a pretty decent effort. They have been hugely successful and good luck to them. I wish them every success in the future – as long as I don’t have to listen to any of it.

Of far more interest to me than their music is brother Jim and his somewhat controversially puffin-esque opinions. He was always a bit of a 9/11 truther and has previously claimed that climate change is a hoax. He has also warned that the European Union is merely the first stage on the path to a one world government.

However, he upped his game during covid, re-tweeting a message that said “the virus is a ploy to bring in a global corporate takeover” and attending anti-lockdown events. When the towering intellects of Jedward had a pop at him for these anti-narrative activities he told them to “shut you up you fools and grow a brain between you”, and later dubbed them Ireland’s Milli Vanilli.

Corr argues the people and institutions we believe to be in control are in fact marionettes dangling from strings pulled by others. In 2008 he told the Belfast Telegraph that “there’s a whole secret government of the West, consisting of elements of the elite banking families and elements within European royalty and aristocracy”, and added that Prime Ministers were simply “puppets way down the chain of command,” His biggest concern, he said, was the “push towards a one-world government”. Well done that chap – his opinions are certainly far more entertaining than he and his sister’s music could, I suspect, ever be.

I guess The Carpenters (originally The Dick Carpenter Trio) don’t need much of an introduction. They were one of the biggest-selling US acts of all time. Between the early 70s and 80s, the sibling duo racked up 17 top 20 singles, 9 gold albums, one multi-platinum album and three Grammy awards. Brother Richard was undoubtedly the musical driving force, but it was sister Karen’s effortlessly velvety voice that fronted their global success. Karen was promoted from behind the drum kit to become the star vocalist and quickly became one of the decade’s most instantly recognisable female singers.

The pair, of course, were not without their troubles: Richard struggled with a serious Disco Biscuit (Mandrax) addiction and Karen struggled with eating disorders for most of her adult life. Sadly, she eventually died of heart failure, aged just 32, accidentally poisoning herself with ipecac syrup – an emetic commonly used to induce vomiting. Sadly, it is also a substance that can, and in Karen’s case apparently did, inflict terrible damage on the cardiovascular system.

However, being a Ffriday, we shall not dwell upon the dark side of The Carpenters’ career. Instead we shall consider the amusing moment in 1975 when Karen was ranked above John Bonham in Playboy’s Best Drummer poll. I think it’s fair to say Mr. B did not take kindly to this result. Witnesses later described a furious, vomit-stained Bonham, roaring his displeasure and taking his frustration out on the doomed and hapless furniture in his pre-gig dressing room. Karen, for her part, expressed her embarrassment at the result and said she hoped Bonham wasn’t mad at her.

In truth, Karen Carpenter was a bloody good drummer. Lauded by Buddy Rich and others, she possessed great technique and a pretty decent array of chops, as the video above amply demonstrates.

And then we have the much-repeated claim that The Carpenters Invented the power ballad. This is a debatable and contentious claim, but the song in question is of course their mould-breaking single Goodbye To Love and it’s truly wonderful outro guitar solo by the much-missed Tony Peluso.

I have honestly lost count of the number of times seriously able guitarists have expressed to me their admiration for that iconic solo. DJ John Peel described it as his favourite guitar solo of all time, and I personally know of one DJ at a rock radio station (which I will not name) who told me they had to “lose” the votes for Goodbye To Love when they ran a poll to find the Greatest Rock Guitar Solo Of All Time, as there was a significant chance they might end up with a somewhat unsuitable winner.

It was the first guitar solo I ever took the trouble to learn note-for-note. Previously, I had always been entirely content to busk my way through a solo, but this is one of those tracks (and I’d argue that Free’s All Right Now is another prime example) which, if you are gonna do it, then you’d better damn well do it right.

It’s hard now to remember just how startling that guitar solo was on first release. It wasn’t the solo itself (it’s not a particularly difficult technical challenge), but the setting in which it was placed. It was a startling juxtaposition that actually generated hate mail from fans who seemed to believe Richard and Karen were guilty of some sort of musical betrayal.

But was it the first power ballad? Probably not. But is was certainly a massive and hugely influential step along the path that would lead to (what would eventually become) one of the dominant rock formats of the 1980’s.

And finally we must turn our attention to one of the most successful bands of the ’70s. Formed in south west London in 1973, they quickly rose to fame and by 1974 were officially the most successful top twenty musical act in the UK, with singles on the UK charts for more weeks than any other act.

I am of course talking about The Wombles: Orinoco, Tobermory, Great Uncle Bulgaria, Bungo, Tomsk, Wellington and the vivacious Madame Cholet. The band were guided by the legendarily gifted writer, musician and producer, Mike Batt (for the Wombles a sort of cross between Svengali and Peter Grant), who successfully steered the band to massive commercial success – 13 hit singles and 4 successful studio albums, all of which were certified Gold.

Orinoco was the band’s frontman and made his musical television debut in early ’74 on the BBC’s Cilla Black Show. The first of many successful Top Of The Pops appearances soon followed and the band were eventually booked to perform as the interval act at the 1974 Eurovision Song Contest. The event was held at The Dome in Brighton and was eventually won by some cheesy Euro novelty band called ABBA. However, most in attendance agreed that the Wombles stole the show and in all honesty blew the winners off the stage.

Sadly, in 1976, after a short but meteoric career, The Wombles split up. There had been internal struggles, musical differences and even a drugs bust for possession of cannabis – an unnamed member of the band was out and about with Robin Le Mesurier (the son of John Le Mesurier and Hattie Jacques) when plod steamed in and made an arrest for marijuana possession.

Wellington Womble had a short and not very successful solo career (just one single) and it was soon clear that the glory days were over. The band returned to the family business (environmental services and waste recycling) and largely restricted their on-stage activity to the occasional panto appearance.

But the public didn’t give up on The Wombles: compilation albums continued to sell well and eventually, in the late nineties and early noughties, their singles began to enter the charts once again. As momentum built, there was a clamour for a return to live performance and eventually, to the delight of their fans, The Wombles finally agreed to tread the boards for one more time and accepted a prestigious slot at the 2011 Glastonbury Festival.

Not everyone was convinced this move was a wise one and the Glastonbury appearance was soon mired in controversy. Michael Eavis (Glastonbury Supremo) was deeply concerned that booking The Wombles was a risky move. New Musical Express leapt to the Wombles’ defence, but Uncle Bulgaria was less than impressed with Eavis and the band promptly withdrew their offer to help with the festival’s clean-up operation.

Happily, The Wombles’ return to the stage was a complete triumph and firmly cemented the band’s legacy as rock music titans. Inevitably, there were calls for a full reunion and a world tour. Promoters and venues were queuing up, eager to throw money at the band, but sadly it was not to be. The reasons have never been fully clarified, but it seems most of the band were keen to continue and were already writing and rehearsing new material. Sadly, the fly in the ointment would appear to have been the reluctance of vocalist and frontman, Orinoco Womble.

Rumours persist that he simply couldn’t face a return to the full-on, foot-to-the-floor, staggeringly hedonistic lifestyle of the band’s well documented 1970’s excess. Additionally, there were rumours that Orinoco planned to record and tour with artists such as the bluegrass legend, Alison Krauss, and also with his own band, The Sensational Litter Pickers. However, whatever the reason, the reunion gig was a triumph, but the subsequent tour never happened. Nevertheless, we will always have that wonderful reunion and that magnificent performance to look back on and cherish.

Anyway, I think that’s quite enough of my ramblings for this week’s Fabulously Flamboyant Friday. So we’ll wrap things up with a performance from the aforementioned Glastonbury show.

May all your pillows be tasty, your gardens inclined and your puddles well jumped.