SECOND SPIN https://secondspin.rocks Sun, 08 Feb 2026 09:45:17 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 https://secondspin.rocks/wp-content/uploads/2026/02/cropped-logo-scaled-2-32x32.png SECOND SPIN https://secondspin.rocks 32 32 David Quantick Likes https://secondspin.rocks/2026/02/08/david-quantick-likes/ https://secondspin.rocks/2026/02/08/david-quantick-likes/#respond Sun, 08 Feb 2026 06:38:08 +0000 https://secondspin.rocks/?p=296 I’ve only seen Squeeze once. Like many people, I love their singles and am less familiar with the albums. At this particular show, which took place sometime in the late 80s, Glenn Tilbrook stepped up to the microphone and said something like, “We’re going to try some new versions of old songs tonight,” and the audience let out a silent groan, like a floor subsiding. Because, while musicians may tire of playing the hits night after night, audiences rarely tire of hearing them. It’s the same in all areas of entertainment: very few movie fans, and people who like Star Wars, were delighted when George Lucas “improved” the series with new CGI alterations, while revised editions of novels, no matter how seamless, rarely excite the reader as much as the originals.
This doesn’t stop artists going back and having another go, of course. Who can forget Kate Bush’s perfectly fine but entirely otiose (look it up) re-tread of Wuthering Heights, James’ beefier but by no means better reworking of Sit Down, and The Police’s remake of Don’t Stand So Close To Me (taken from a re-recorded Greatest Hits project whose recording allegedly ended when Stewart Copeland read out loud a negative review of Sting’s latest movie appearance)? Musicians love to remake and remodel – particularly Bryan Ferry, who actually did remake and remodel several songs from Roxy Music’s debut album because he didn’t like the original production and thought the songs could be a bit duller.
But Ferry was also behind the most radical remake project of recent years when he hired a jazz band to re-record Ferry and Roxy songs in a 20s idiom, complete with 78rpm-style production: because sometimes the reworking has a point. Take Kraftwerk’s brilliant reboot of Radioactivity: the 1975 original is a beautiful, woozy hymn to the history of science, but the 1991 remake is a harsh, terrifying warning about the dangers of nuclear power. Both are very different and both are great.
In a similar, if less lethal, vein, is David Bowie’s remake of his 1972 single, John, I’m Only Dancing. Where the original single, and its 1973 re-record, are sexy rockabilly boogies with saucy lyrics, the 1974 remake is a sleazy disco tune with saucy lyrics. Two years and a thousand changes between them, and the results are, in both cases, extraordinary. Bowie, unsurprisingly, did this a lot, re-recording songs constantly – The Prettiest Star, Moonage Daydream (originally with “Arnold Corns”), Rebel Rebel (that one within hours of its single release) and, of course, Space Oddity, which in Ashes To Ashes even had its own sequel. And then there’s the unreleased Toy album which sees the deep mahogany Bowie of the Heathen era revisit the growing-pains Bowie of the 60s with darker tones: it’s a success and deserves a release.
Sometimes, the remake is more successful than the original – Alice Cooper’s Reflected, which became a hit as Elected, or The KLF’s What Time Is Love, which was beefed up into a stadium house biggie. I’m sure you have your favourites: certainly, the world is full of remakes and it’s hard to tell which to single out for praise, you know. I’d definitely go for Van Morrison’s Madame George, which morphed from its tentative 60s version to the extraordinary centrepiece of Astral Weeks, but there’s also room in my heart for Dexys Midnight Runners’ extraordinary slowed-down revisiting of There There, My Dear, which almost flatlines itself.
There are many, many reasons for recording a remake: sometimes it’s because you’ve lost the rights to a song, sometimes it’s because you need to re-grab the copyright. Sometimes there are many strong artistic reasons – Joni Mitchell’s Both Sides Now comes to mind – or sometimes it’s just commercial (The Beach Boys’ admittedly excellent disco version of Here Comes The Night). Sometimes it’s value for money – hence the new wave era’s obsession with different, duller album versions of the hit single – and sometimes it’s just because it’s jazz (and how we do love to listen to the same song performed by an artist at the beginning and the end of their careers for the life lived and the fags smoked).
And sometimes it’s just downright peculiar. I’m indebted to many people for their suggestions for this column (the cheque’s in the chequebook) but I would like to end with this suggestion by my good friend, Arsalan Mohammad. We all know of Paul McCartney’s obsession with getting the writing credit changed on Yesterday, and the fact that he has on occasion gone ahead and credited it to “McCartney/Lennon”, but I was unaware of the most bizarre reversal of his career: a 2015 remix of his duet with Michael Jackson, Say Say Say, in which Macca has swapped over the lines he and Jackson sang. It’s a very odd decision and makes for incredibly peculiar listening: the song remains the same, but nobody is singing the “right” bits. It’s bloody weird, far weirder than anything ever recorded by anybody else, entirely disconcerting and can – if you have the courage to listen to it and the ability to retain your sanity – be found on YouTube. Go on, you know you want to.

]]> https://secondspin.rocks/2026/02/08/david-quantick-likes/feed/ 0 A New York Doll https://secondspin.rocks/2026/02/08/a-new-york-doll/ https://secondspin.rocks/2026/02/08/a-new-york-doll/#respond Sun, 08 Feb 2026 06:36:32 +0000 https://secondspin.rocks/?p=294 I’ve only seen Squeeze once. Like many people, I love their singles and am less familiar with the albums. At this particular show, which took place sometime in the late 80s, Glenn Tilbrook stepped up to the microphone and said something like, “We’re going to try some new versions of old songs tonight,” and the audience let out a silent groan, like a floor subsiding. Because, while musicians may tire of playing the hits night after night, audiences rarely tire of hearing them. It’s the same in all areas of entertainment: very few movie fans, and people who like Star Wars, were delighted when George Lucas “improved” the series with new CGI alterations, while revised editions of novels, no matter how seamless, rarely excite the reader as much as the originals.
This doesn’t stop artists going back and having another go, of course. Who can forget Kate Bush’s perfectly fine but entirely otiose (look it up) re-tread of Wuthering Heights, James’ beefier but by no means better reworking of Sit Down, and The Police’s remake of Don’t Stand So Close To Me (taken from a re-recorded Greatest Hits project whose recording allegedly ended when Stewart Copeland read out loud a negative review of Sting’s latest movie appearance)? Musicians love to remake and remodel – particularly Bryan Ferry, who actually did remake and remodel several songs from Roxy Music’s debut album because he didn’t like the original production and thought the songs could be a bit duller.
But Ferry was also behind the most radical remake project of recent years when he hired a jazz band to re-record Ferry and Roxy songs in a 20s idiom, complete with 78rpm-style production: because sometimes the reworking has a point. Take Kraftwerk’s brilliant reboot of Radioactivity: the 1975 original is a beautiful, woozy hymn to the history of science, but the 1991 remake is a harsh, terrifying warning about the dangers of nuclear power. Both are very different and both are great.
In a similar, if less lethal, vein, is David Bowie’s remake of his 1972 single, John, I’m Only Dancing. Where the original single, and its 1973 re-record, are sexy rockabilly boogies with saucy lyrics, the 1974 remake is a sleazy disco tune with saucy lyrics. Two years and a thousand changes between them, and the results are, in both cases, extraordinary. Bowie, unsurprisingly, did this a lot, re-recording songs constantly – The Prettiest Star, Moonage Daydream (originally with “Arnold Corns”), Rebel Rebel (that one within hours of its single release) and, of course, Space Oddity, which in Ashes To Ashes even had its own sequel. And then there’s the unreleased Toy album which sees the deep mahogany Bowie of the Heathen era revisit the growing-pains Bowie of the 60s with darker tones: it’s a success and deserves a release.
Sometimes, the remake is more successful than the original – Alice Cooper’s Reflected, which became a hit as Elected, or The KLF’s What Time Is Love, which was beefed up into a stadium house biggie. I’m sure you have your favourites: certainly, the world is full of remakes and it’s hard to tell which to single out for praise, you know. I’d definitely go for Van Morrison’s Madame George, which morphed from its tentative 60s version to the extraordinary centrepiece of Astral Weeks, but there’s also room in my heart for Dexys Midnight Runners’ extraordinary slowed-down revisiting of There There, My Dear, which almost flatlines itself.
There are many, many reasons for recording a remake: sometimes it’s because you’ve lost the rights to a song, sometimes it’s because you need to re-grab the copyright. Sometimes there are many strong artistic reasons – Joni Mitchell’s Both Sides Now comes to mind – or sometimes it’s just commercial (The Beach Boys’ admittedly excellent disco version of Here Comes The Night). Sometimes it’s value for money – hence the new wave era’s obsession with different, duller album versions of the hit single – and sometimes it’s just because it’s jazz (and how we do love to listen to the same song performed by an artist at the beginning and the end of their careers for the life lived and the fags smoked).
And sometimes it’s just downright peculiar. I’m indebted to many people for their suggestions for this column (the cheque’s in the chequebook) but I would like to end with this suggestion by my good friend, Arsalan Mohammad. We all know of Paul McCartney’s obsession with getting the writing credit changed on Yesterday, and the fact that he has on occasion gone ahead and credited it to “McCartney/Lennon”, but I was unaware of the most bizarre reversal of his career: a 2015 remix of his duet with Michael Jackson, Say Say Say, in which Macca has swapped over the lines he and Jackson sang. It’s a very odd decision and makes for incredibly peculiar listening: the song remains the same, but nobody is singing the “right” bits. It’s bloody weird, far weirder than anything ever recorded by anybody else, entirely disconcerting and can – if you have the courage to listen to it and the ability to retain your sanity – be found on YouTube. Go on, you know you want to.

]]> https://secondspin.rocks/2026/02/08/a-new-york-doll/feed/ 0 Luke Haines https://secondspin.rocks/2026/02/08/luke-haines/ https://secondspin.rocks/2026/02/08/luke-haines/#respond Sun, 08 Feb 2026 06:33:29 +0000 https://secondspin.rocks/?p=292 My fellow Record Collector columnist David Quantick beat me to the punch. Just as I had filed my copy on The World’s Worst Groups (My Bloody Valentine, since you ask), what should fall through the door but the latest issue of Record Collector with a column by David Q about, “The World’s Worst Groups.” Curses, and cunning in the extreme, as David also then wrote his next column about “The World’s Best Groups.” Now, using my column converter app, I am writing this column about The World’s Worst Fans. I may even follow this column up with a column about The World’s Best Fans. This is all one in the eye for those who think that Record Collector is a bit fusty. Record Collector is now beyond the zeitgeist. It is positively meta.
The thorny issue of which artist has the worst fans is deep and complex. Often great bands have awful fans. As do truly terrible groups. For the sake of argument, I’ll set a ground rule: It may be stating
the obvious that the fascist thug skinhead band Screwdriver have appalling fans, as does former black metal ex-Mayhem murderer, Varg Vikerness. So, no neo-Nazis and their followers. Oddly, I have met a few fans of The Manson Family’s music and they are generally OK. Perhaps they will make an appearance in next month’s inevitable “Best Fans” column.
The Clash were a band who struck genius as much as they struck a dumb pose. Consistency was never in The Clash’s armoury. It is in the armoury of their fans, who are consistently sentimental and earnest. The Clash man-gang-army are all post-middle age and very weepy about The Clash. Clash fans seem to think that being in The Clash – signing a major record deal, taking fun drugs (for fun) and singing songs around the world – was akin to serving in the World Wars. The fans have a grateful peasant-worships-veteran attitude to General Joe and Field Marshall Mick.
To critique the last gang in town is seen as akin to desecrating the Cenotaph. You don’t get this from Damned fans (stoical), or Johnny Moped fans (unsurprisingly, philosophical). Strangely, you don’t even get this from Dexys fans. But then, I guess they have been through a lot and are probably a bit shell-shocked.
There are worse fans than Clash fans. Smiths fans, naturally. Morrissey brilliantly groomed his army of teenage fanatics, much the same way that the dotty Symbionese Liberation Army locked poor old Patty Hearst in a cupboard and bored her senseless with Marx and Marcuse texts. Morrissey trapped thousands of impressionable British adolescents in their bedrooms and droned tatty old Shelagh Delaney phrases at them so effectively that now, in middle age, they have to fret about balancing their early Smiths love with the genuine fear of mad Moz’s somewhat “provocative” solo career.
So Stone Roses and Oasis fans notwithstanding (both disturbingly low wattage), which pop group has the worst fans? Well, surprise, surprise, it’s the biggest and best – The Fabs. Maybe there’s something about being a fan of the best that leaves one a little empty. The Beatles only really made half a dozen below-par recordings (by the standards of the time, Little Child isn’t so bad) so, where is there to go? You can’t just revel in how mind-bogglingly, perfectly fab the Fabs were.
You can’t even have a Fab you really dislike as they were all pretty great. All you can do is love them a little too much.
The first signs of loving The Beatles too much occurred in 1966. The group couldn’t get any bigger, so cue the Lennon “Beatles are bigger than Jesus” comments. And who were the first ones to burn their Beatle records? The Ku Klux Klan. That the Klan owned Beatles plastic would indicate that the KKK were once Beatles fans. This is the first evidence that the fabs had some really rotten fans. Not to be outdone by the Klan, up stepped Charles Manson (him again) thinking that “The White Album” was all about him. Charles was a crap fan. The 70s passed without Beatles fans doing anything really heinous to their favourite group, apart from abandoning them for the Beatle-lite of ELO and the Eurovision Fabs – ABBA. No one, not even Beatles fans, liked The Beatles in the 70s. Stand up Beatles fans, you are crap and disloyal.
The 80s and 90s made the transgressions of Beatles fans in the 60s seem fairly mild. I won’t do a joke about Mark Chapman, but it’s safe to say that Lennon’s murderer and Michael Abram, George’s disturbed would-be slayer in 1999, are the most nightmarish fans anyone could have. All this makes the fact that The Beatles song catalogue was bought up in 1985 by super-fan Michael Jackson seem like light satire.
The Beatles may walk it with the “Worst Fans” trophy, but the band with the most surprisingly ardent, unforgiving and angry fans are, historically, fairly insignificant. A few years ago, on social media, I made a slightly surreal joke about this particular band piloting a boat up the Thames to join the Queen’s jubilee flotilla. The response? Hundreds of angry tweets. The senders of these tweets? Fans of The Boomtown Rats. There is nothing as strange and dangerous as pop fans.
Luke Haines tweets at @LukeHaines_News
]]> https://secondspin.rocks/2026/02/08/luke-haines/feed/ 0