jonathan andrew cragg

Neil Peart, Chris and Me.

Sat, 21 Nov 2020 14:41:53 -0500

Its almost a year now since the death of Rush drummer Neil Peart, and for those that know me, it hit me pretty hard. Having been such profound influence in getting me started in music, his sad demise had the side effect of re igniting some conversations with friends old and new; reminiscing on the genius of the professor on the drum kit. I wanted to share this snippet of an email thread with my old friend Mr Chris Madden. Chris and I grew up on the same street and shared many a musical adventure.
We attended the same high school and both wound up at the University Of East London. Amazingly we both transitioned into working as mental health counselors,after many years working in the music business so the conversations over the years have been rich and varied.
Chris: "Jonny, When we first met (way before ‘back in the day’ was even a thing! 1979 to be exact) I think you’d just started playing drums but you’d already developed a deep connection to music. Rush was your band and Neil Peart was a drummer who I know has subsequently had a significant influence on you’re playing.
I wonder how you’ve been feeling and what you’ve been thinking about since the really sad news of Neil Peart’s passing? "
Jonny "Hey Chris! whats goin on man? great to hear from you.
Yes I was sat in my new office putting together IKEA furniture when the news broke of Neils passing. I had no idea he was sick. Needless to say it was a very sad day for me.It did though occur to me that his illness may have had some bearing on the last show I saw him play. It was on the R40 tour here in Seattle and I must say I wasn't as 'blown away' by his playing than in the past. Tempos seemed a little sluggish and the wholething seemed a little 'off' somehow. It was still fabulous by anyone elses standards and I remain grateful that I got to see them on their last 'go around'. The events of last week set me off on a celebration of his incredible talents as a drummer and lyricist. I made my way through all of their early stuff at very high volume in my car to and from work. I can't believe how many ideas and fills found their way into bands that I have been in over the years! I realized that as much as I love Rush I STILL can't listen to anything past Signals: They really lost me after that. That had as much to do with my own musical trajectory as anything else. If you look at the musical landscape in the early eighties, the prevalent wisdom (then) was that to be a musician you had to go to art school not music school. It created some of the great new wave/post punk/positive punk/new romantic/Ska/whateverelseyouwereinto sounds from that time (particularly in the UK) arguably the second golden era of British music after the Sixties. The flip side of that dialectic is that it gave way to a form of uniquely British musical Ludditism, whereupon the concert toms and wind chimes were surrendered in favor of a more spartan processed sensibility. The sonic palette of say Martin Hamnett, on those first two Joy Divison records broke the mould and being a Rush fan was suddenly not something you should shout about. I was always a little pissed off that the consesus at the time was that you couldn't be into both, and I was into both.
Of course like all great music, Rush and their memory has brought me closer to you and particularly the times we have spent in our youth, listening over and over again to their albums, what was your Rush 'Aha' moment? any record in particular? Or was it a concert? or just an association with a time or a place?"
Chris "Thanks for your thoughts Jonny. You’d hadn’t mentioned the Rush R40 show to me before now and I wonder in reflection if Neil Peart was already ill then? Perhaps we’ll never know but I wonder how this concert may have coloured your relationship to him/Rush subsequently?
I’m glad you asked about my Rush ‘Aha’ moment and, though I couldn’t say it was the lightbulb moment, when I think of Rush I am always very suddenly immersed into a memory of you and I (and 4 other school friends) at my parent’s house, on a bright winter morning, there was a ground frost, the school heating failure cancelled our classes so we sat cramped in my folk’s sitting room listening to ‘Hemispheres’. I love that record and the memory of that moment. Hemispheres is like a time-machine in that sense. That’s where it takes me and, of course, to other less tangible but equally emotionally places too.
The music experience (both shared and in isolation) is so entwined with who I am, with my own personal relationship to my identity and lived experience- at least to a certain point in my life (probably the debut LP by Fleet Foxes). The music that touches me deeply manifests a connection to a space and place in time, yet still gives me the gift of new experiences and listening pleasure. It still confounds me sometimes in the most unusual ways. Most recently, I was taken by great surprise at the deep sense of loss I felt in the weeks following the passing of Mark Hollis (February 2019), the ineffable leader of Talk Talk. I have never stopped listening with complete awe to their peerless and utterly beguiling LP triptych ‘The Colour of Spring’, ‘Eden’ and Laughing Stock’. I’m grateful for the many times you and I shared listening to their music and for the wonder I still feel when I consider the power which exists as a magical essence in music. I say this as a non-musician and wonder how it is for you as a musician?"
Jonny "Exactly the same! or I think it would be!? Sometimes the fact that I play an instrument (the drums) serves as some sort of weird handicap, like I can't mindfully turn my attention to another part of the music without making a conscious effort to do so, like the bass or the keys or just the words. I occasionally ask my clients to pick out a piece of music and to try to notice a part of it they had never considered before as an opening mindfulness exercise. Or to describe an emotional feeling state that arises from that music. To give it not only a verbal description but to show me where that emotion resides in the body.
Agreed about R40, it was the first thought I had when I got the terrible news: Had he been unwell or even diagnosed as that tour was in motion? He was a different player, certainly from the one that made such an indelible mark on his Rush debut album Fly By Night. It's still actually one of my favorite records of theirs. So sinewy and balls out progressive!
The first record I came into contact with was ' A Farewell To Kings' because my brother Nige' had it and I would listen to it in his bedroom, around that time Hemispheres came out and my fascination went into overdrive. So by the time I heard Permanent Waves I was already a big fan of the band and our friendship was in full swing. The first Rush concert (and probably yours right? ) was at the old tram shed in Leeds called the Queens Hall. Standing room only, sounded like they were playing in a submarine, EverythingI was wearing wound up coloured purple by the time I got out of there. I must admit I was a bit jealous you got to see the Police there Chris, what was I thinking not going to that one?"
Chris "I love that you use music with your clients.
I think we can both attest to the life-affirming experience of music. I find myself constantly moved by the profound complex emotional and interpersonal gifts that music can gift us. I recognise music as the initial foundation of our relationship; you liked a specific kind of music, identified through the costume of your tribe and our fledgling relationship was built around those initial identifiers. I love that! I wonder if you know how much of an influence you have been on my musical taste? Were it not for you, I doubt that I would have heard the wide variety of music that continues to move me today; I might never have fallen in love with Miles Davis, Black Uhuru, Echo and the Bunnymen....

Working with many people from the music/creative industries, I’ve found that whilst music offers a rich therapeutic seam, it can also play a significant part in the cause of pain, distress and the myriad of ‘stuff’ that people bring to therapy. There is a very strong attachment to working in music yet it can be an unforgiving environment, one that seems to be based upon an incredible configuration of factors, the most intangible being luck!

It’s interesting that you highlight your own schism in listening to music as a musician. Do you mean that music can sometimes be a dissonant experience or just that you miss parts of the music? I’ve just picked up a copy of ‘The Music Instinct’ by Philip Ball which explores ‘how music works and why we can’t live without it’, and hope I might find some new ideas.

This last weekend I watched ‘Rush- Time Stand Still’ film which documents both their R40 tour and the special relationship with their fans. It seems that Neil Peart had called a day on touring and struggled with illness throughout the tour. You really should see it, if only for the beautiful moment at the end of their final show. As I said in a previous email, Rush (like much other music) serve as a time machine- their music is like a rip in space/time. I think it could be like that for many people.

Our tribe are indebted to and make sense/identify through a relationship with music and I don’t think I’d have it any other way. So why the hell didn’t you come and see The Police with me????"
Jonny "
Jonny "Well I'm flattered that I had an impact on your music appreciation Chris! We all have our mentors and likewise you are one of mine. I fondly remember the pilgrimage we made to New Yorks' NMS festival in '87 blagging our way onto the Staten Island Ferry to watch Fetchin' Bones and Skinny Puppy, down to Athens Georgia to Howard Finsters Paradise Garden on the REM trail. But back to Rush:
I think my favorite memory of them is at Madison Square Garden around '07/08. I was in the post Spacehog Langdon sandwich band known as Arckid. We had a manager called Robbie whos' brother had worked with Rush before his untimely passing. Robbie was tight with their management and asked if I would like to see the show. My family were in town and I asked if he could extend to an extra ticket for my dad. 'Sure' he said, ' wanna go to the meet and greet?'
'Hell yes' was my response, 'will Neil be there?'
'Neil doesn't do meet and greets' he replied, sounding like he'd said it once or twice before.
So there I was with my dad, meeting Geddy and Alex, then up to the orchestra pit to see a blinding rock show at bone crunching volume. At one point my dad turned to me and said in my ear; ' I can see now where you get your influence from.'
It was a bit of a Eureka moment for me and of course hugely validating: I hadn't really given my dad enough credit for cultivating my music career: Helping me buy my first drum kit, driving me to auditions, gigs and rehearsals, including a 9 hour round trip to Jacobs Studio in Surrey to try out for the Cult in their prime. I hadnt until then made the connection that my mum confirmed after my dads death: That it really was my dad living through me in that he had long harbored a desire to play the drums. He had an innate sense of rhythm and it fascinated me as a small child. He really 'got' what an impact Neil had on my playing in a way that none of my peers had really acknowledged. I'm so profoundly grateful that I got to share that incredible experience with my father.
As for the Police I still regret not making it down to the Queens Hall for that one........"
Chris Madden is an integrative mental health counselor in Leeds England, for more information go to his website https://chrismaddentherapy.com/
Jonny Cragg is a mental health counselor at DBT Eastside in Seattle, WA. To learn more about DBT got to the DBT Eastside website at http://www.dbteastside.com/about-us

The Hollow Men

Tue, 31 May 2016 20:24:40 -0400

It is 1987. I have just returned from a defining three month road trip around the United States and am preparing for my final year at University. My big distraction; music had not yet given me an excuse to drop out and it seemed silly to contemplate, so close to graduation. That said, a guy I knew from Jumbo Records called Choque was doing something very interesting in Leeds. I had stepped out to see him a few times in London with his other band Salvation and a college friend from Leeds named Howi was putting some bass on what was to become the first album: Tales Of The Riverbank. Howi was already active with The Passmore Sisters from nearby Bradford and he recommended me to Choque and singer David Ashmore. We met at the ludicrously named Chocolate Factory Psychedelic night and a plan was hatched for me to play drums on the follow up.
During another of my lengthy holidays i played on a good half of 'The Man Who Would Be King' which wound up getting some decent reviews, and yielding 'White Train': a nifty little pop song penned by Howi and David.

It was a bit weird playing over existing tracks and a drum machine, but the band seemed to give me a bit of freedom and invited me to contribute percussion and backing vocals which I duly performed. Everyone was very welcoming and a plot was thickening to bring The Passmore Sisters' Brian E Roberts into the fold and play some live shows.
If I was to be a part of it, I would have to move back to Leeds, which I did after I graduated.
I recall being a bit deflated, returning from London so soon, but it didn't hurt being a part of a band that were going places.
Choque was your classic big fish in a small pond, man about town: Hard working, outspoken, gregarious and sometimes cruel, especially with the ladies.
David was the bands' visionary, not a great singer by any means; Dave was however a good lyricist and a meticulous planner: Howi once said you could learn all you needed to know about the guy by watching him make a bacon sandwich, which in his case involved a pair of surgical scissors.
Howi is one of the funniest people I've ever met, but underneath it all he was deadly serious, the logistics man, frugal in the extreme.
And then there was Brian, last man in, The Merchant of Didsbury as he was called. This was due to his innate sense of dramatics, both personal and musical, one of the best guitarists I have ever worked with.
Together we produced a live show for what was until that point a devoutly studio centric project. Gathering momentum with a video based on kids TV show 'Magic Roundabout' and playing shows in Leeds, Manchester and London.

Our first show was opening for The Lilac Time at Manchester University and was quickly followed by shows with The Wonderstuff and I think most memorably The Stone Roses. It was a great time for live music in retrospect. Most established indie rock bands had their own traveling following and I think we even managed to pick up five or six of our own. All of the combined momentum rewarded us with a major record deal in 1989. In part because of our collective love of The Church, we chose Arista.
The deal gave us the opportunity to record a new album in a residential studio, just as the Manchester scene exploded.
The external indie rock revolution gave way to our own internal revolution at The Windings Studio in North Wales that summer: Swapping The Jesus And Mary Chain and The Waterboys for The Beloved and The Happy Mondays. There were a few awkward moments being relegated to programming the drum machine, but overall it was an intensely creative time. The Ffrwd Valley sessions were bookended by recordings made at Black Barn in Ripley and at 10cc's old Studio, Strawberry in Stockport.

https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:album:5cfuMrYIOvvR6XG5EtA1wH"
Next to the first two independent LP's; Aristas' 'Cresta' was something of a commercial disappointment. But it did make a splash in the US, selling 20000 copies before a bar band from Kansas City (with the same name) put a stop to us trading as The Hollow Men. We were inevitably dropped by Arista. The group became splintered and David quit the band whilst making what was to become our last and in fact posthumous fourth album: Twisted.
Like most great bands we were a gang, we'd do anything for each other and in those few years together we became great friends. Choque would cook us all curry, roll joints and play us the latest offerings from the record store on a Friday night, I would take trips to Manchester on the coach and write with Brian in his flat. Towards the end of the bands lifespan I made another trip Stateside with David, taking a peek at what was to become my new home: New York.

Flowers For Agatha

Mon, 28 Mar 2016 12:52:07 -0400

Inspired in part by the efforts of my dear friend Mr Peter Darnborough: I started to learn how to play the drums in September 1979. Pete, had a drum kit and was already playing gigs at parties around Horsforth. At one such party at the nearby Scotland Lane Estate, i got horribly drunk, staggered home and threw up everywhere. My dad promptly called up Pete to chastise him for my behaviour; something we still laugh about now. I guess my parents clocked him as a bad influence and they were right in a way.
At the time we were both listening to a lot of Rush, Black Sabbath, Led Zep', Thin Lizzy and other hard/prog rock groups at the time.
After a year or two of goofing around on my chrome Tama Swing Star kit in my bedroom, I decided it was time to join a band. Sometime in 1982 i answered an ad' placed on the notice board at Jumbo Records in Leeds.
I met the singer Jon shortly afterwards. He described himself as an anarchist and was studying politics at Liverpool University. I had never met an anarchist before and i was intrigued. Jon instructed me to stop listening to Rush because of their admiration of Ayn Rand, who was a fascist. Jon then made me a cassette sampler of Joy Division, The Cure, The Monochrome Set and Echo and The Bunnymen. This cassette became my template for the musical journey i was about to go on with Jon.
I was in the sixth form studying A levels and we had just read a short story about a dying man called Flowers For Algernon. I adapted the title to name the band Flowers For Agatha. I was starting to sneak out to The Warehouse and The Phonographique in Leeds and something else was happening in the city: Goth.

My first ever gig was at The Packhorse on the edge of Hyde Park. I was nervous as hell, more so when my parents showed up to 'cheer me on'. A lovely show of support in retrospect, but at the time i was horrified that my mum turned up in a fox fur jacket.
The show was a blur of nerves, sweat and Tetleys Bitter, lots of dropped sticks,hairspray and unnecessary fills. I was hooked.
No one in the band could play at all. Paul the bassist and Mick the guitarist were real one string wonders, and my mother would often describe Jon's voice as like a cow in some sort of labor pain. I would practice and rehearse Flowers for Agatha in my bedroom at the bottom of Horsforth School Drive. So it wasn't long before everyone at school knew i was in a band. This was met with ridicule and curiosity in equal measure. When Mick left, we found a replacement in Rab, a Scot living in Bramley: A more competant guitarist with some interesting ideas about stage craft. My mother still complains about how he dragged dog shit all the way up to my bedroom from his giant sized high tops one afternoon.
We recorded demos at Lion Studios with Tony Bonner and Len Liggins at the controls in '82 and '83. I think i had just bought a pair of Roto-Toms before the first session. You can hear me trying to put them in at every opportunity on our first offerings. Thankfully the drumming and overall fidelity improved a bit by the second stint. By then we were playing around Leeds and had become a bit of a fixture on the alternative scene.
Somewhere along the line i started to see the limitations of the group and lost interest. I was superceded by a bunch of kids i went to school with coincidentally enough and another kid from the posh school who wound up writing the popular tv comedy 'The League Of Gentlemen'. They signed to Cherry Red and opened for the Cult, but i had had my moment playing on the lager and black soaked carpet on the floor at Le Phonographique.
I went to University in London with a fire in my belly for playing music, thanks to Flowers For Agatha.