THE SARTORIAL ELEGANCE OF SERIE A: UDINESE CALCIO, 1987-90 [ABM]

 

Anyone with more than a passing interest in Italian football will probably know that the country's first football club was Genoa, established in 1893. But how many of us can name the second? Answer: Udinese, established in 1896. Just as Genoa began life as Genoa Cricket & Athletic Club, Udinese operated under the patronage of the Società Udinese di Ginnastica e Scherma (Udinese Gymnastics and Fencing Society). Such multifaceted sporting arrangements were not uncommon back then, and many an Italian team can testify to such origins. There normally came a point, however, when the football-oriented wing of these organizations would seek to establish its own identify.

For Udinese that point came in 1911, with the formation of the Associazione del Calcio Udine. Exchanging their all-black jerseys for black and white halved ones, the club registered with the Federazione Italiana Giuoco Calcio (FIGC), and were duly allocated a regional place in the 1912-13 Promozione. Pitted against Unione Sportiva Petrarca and Calcio Padova, Udinese came second in their group, which was enough to gain entry into the Veneto-Emilian section of next season's Prima Categoria, where they remained up World War 1.

Conflict over, Udinese became part of Associazione Sportiva Udinese, and the team's colours were again tinkered with: black-trimmed white shirts paired with white shorts and black socks. It was in this kit that Udinese made it to the first ever final of the Coppa Italia, losing to FC Vado by one goal, in 1922. [It should be noted that most of the so-called 'bigger' clubs in Italy were at the time registered with the Confederazione Calcistica Italiana and not eligible to compete in the Italian Cup, which was the initiative of the FIGC.] The same year the club was promoted into the newly created Prima Divisione, only to be relegated the following season.

Meanwhile, Udinese's mounting debts precipitated a separation from the Associazione Sportiva and would have ended in dissolution had the club's president, Alessandro del Torso, not raised enough money to keep them afloat. A reconfigured Associazione Calcio Udinese were promoted back into the Prima Divisione in 1825, but were relegated the year after into Group B of what was also called the Prima Divisione, given that the highest league had been rebranded as the Divisione Nazionale.

           
In 1930 Udinese advanced into a newly conceptualized Serie B as champions of the Prima Divisione, after coming top of Group C (Northern Division) and then defeating Palermo 3-1 in a played-off final. By now Udinese were wearing black and white striped shirts, a combination they would wear consistently over the course of the next five decades. Their form would remain consistent too, in a sense. The 1930s would be played out in Serie C, the 1940s saw Udinese competing in Serie B, the 1950s in Serie A, and the latter half of the '60s and most of the '70s spent back in Serie C.

It was towards the end of the 1970s that club began to revive itself. Having moved into a newly built stadium in 1976 – the Stadio Friuli, with its distinctive elliptical arch – Udinese completed a treble of sorts, finishing top of Group A of Serie C and winning both the Coppa Italia Lega Pro and the Anglo-Italian Cup. The following year, after abbreviating their name to Udinese Calcio, they were promoted into Serie A as champions of Serie B. Finally, in 1980, Udinese defeated Čelik Zenica in the final of the Coppa Mitropa.

 

After decades of sartorial stability, Udinese decided it was time for another change. Discarding the traditional black and white stripes, the club opted for a shirt con palo – literally, 'with pole'. In other words white with a wide, black vertical stripe straight down the middle. Made by Pouchain it also featured a new crest, designed by the great Piero Gratton, depicting a zebra's head inscribed within a green circle. The badge didn't last long and was replaced in 1981 with a white shield displaying an inverted black V with a red Z beneath it – which stood for the home appliance manufacturer 'Zanussi', who had recently taken the club over – and the words 'udinese calcio' (lower case) printed above it. [For 1981-82, the jersey itself, produced by the Italian fashion brand Americanino, was adorned with the Z on its own, which I don't suppose went down very well.]

In 1984 Diadora succeeded Americanino as technical sponsor and made further alterations. The new shirt was essentially black but with a thick white band running diagonally from the left arm down across the torso, and also bore the name of a commercial sponsor, Agfacolor. Then in 1986 ABM took over from Diadora, but left the shirt well alone.

 

Things came to a head in 1987. The Brazilian Zico had come and gone, and Udinese's results hadn't been going their way. The club's involvement in the 1986 Italian football betting scandal saw them hit with a nine-point penalty deduction, resulting inevitably in relegation. As if taking stock, ABM reverted to the evenly gauged black and white stripes of Udinese's past. A new sponsor too: Rex, a high-end subsidiary of Zanussi. Writ in amber against a black background, and with a deliberately misaligned E, it brought welcome relief to an otherwise achromatic template – as did ABM's red, angular insignia. A neat, trimmed collar completed the look.

Udinese rounded off 1987-88 season in a mediocre tenth place, although the appointment of Nedo Sonetti as head coach in December had brought with it an improvement in form during the second half of the season. And so it proved. In 1989, with the collar now removed, Udinese finished third, which got them back into Serie A. Foreign players were then purchased in an effort to stay there – the Argentines Abel Balbo and Nestor Sensini, and the Spanish veteran Ricardo Gallego – and a new coach too – Bruno Mazzia – while ABM reinstated the missing collars.

It didn't work out. Udinese were condemned to Serie B on the last day of the season, despite beating Inter 4-3. The club subsequently became embroiled in another match-fixing scandal, which deferred their return to Serie A for a couple of years. Adidas replaced ABM, before Lotto came along and ruined everything. Now firmly entrenched within Serie A, Udinese's gear is currently provided by Macron, who have seen fit to experiment with the various formats of their predecessors.

STADIA: STADIO DIEGO ARMANDO MARADONA, NAPLES

 

They don’t build stadiums like the Stadio Diego Armando Maradona/San Paolo anymore. They never really did, at least not in Europe; it’s an approach more common to South America.

What is this this approach? An elliptical, continuous terrace with a raised, uncovered tier overlooking it, made of concrete. There are other Italian grounds built in a similar style – Lecce’s Stadio Via del Mare, Avellino’s Partenio-Adriano Lombardi – but they are much smaller and partially covered. The trend in Italy generally has been for cheaper ‘stadium’ shaped stadiums: obround arenas with straight sides and curved ends. Rectangular football grounds – traditionally referred to as ‘English-style’ – used to be a rarity, which is no longer the case.

The Stadio del Sole (it officially became known as Stadio San Paolo in 1963) was constructed between 1952 and 1959 after the previous ground, in the hilltop district of Vomero, proved too small to accommodate SSC Napoli’s burgeoning popularity. Designed by a team led by the rationalist architect Carlo Cocchia, the new stadium had a capacity of 85,012. By comparison, the San Siro's in Milan stood at around 82,000, having undergone a major overhaul in 1955. Both stadia were uncovered and had two lines of symmetry.

They also shared an aesthetic quality. Although shaped differently – one an ellipse, the other a rounded rectangle – the two grounds were constructed from reinforced concrete, and no attempt was made to disguise the fact. Whereas Italian stadia built during the interwar period had hidden, quite literally, behind the façade of Italian Rationalism (which used to be Cocchia’s thing, incidentally) the San Paolo and San Siro leaned towards Brutalism.

The San Paolo went further than the San Siro in that its infrastructure was left completely exposed. The nineteen 200-metre long helical ramps that enveloped the San Siro presented a solid geometry; the 56 vertical concrete ribs that supported the upper tier of the San Paolo did not. In between these ribs, at semi-regular intervals, were perpendicular stairwells working their way upward along the underside of the bowl. In common with the San Siro, plenty of empty space surrounded it, providing enough distance from which to appreciate the shape and scale of the building.

Pier Luigi Nervi (responsible for the Stadio Flaminio in Rome and Stadio Comunale in Florence, and a dab hand when it came to reinforcing concrete) was said to be impressed with Cocchia’s work. It is not known whether he was similarly appreciative of Armando Ronca’s.
 

1950s

Napoli didn’t perform as well in their new environment as might have been expected, succumbing to relegation within two years of moving in. That said, the club won promotion back into Serie A at the first attempt, winning the Coppa Italia – their first major trophy – in the process. It would be another 14 years before Napoli won another, although they were consistent enough in the league, generally finishing in the upper half of the table.

In the meantime, the San Paolo was proving its worth. As well as playing host to the Italian national team, it was used for football in the 1960 Olympic Games, was the main venue for the 1963 Mediterranean Games, was selected for the 1968 European Championship (one of three grounds chosen), the 1980 European Championship (one of four) and the 1990 World Cup (one of twelve).

It was in preparing for the 1990 World Cup that the San Paolo’s troubles started, a project to be supervised by Fabrizio Cocchia, son of the original architect. Certain improvements were straightforward enough. The lower tier was reconfigured to allow for a steeper rake. The lack of facilities, and space for them, was dealt with by erecting a raised concourse around the base of the stadium. New dressing rooms were constructed beneath the running track, as well as an underground multi-storey car park with room enough for 2,000 vehicles. Red seats were installed throughout, reducing the overall capacity. The upper tier was to be extended upwards to offset this reduction, and was, but not until after the World Cup.

And then there was the roof. Not the roof we see today but the one that the architect Giuseppe Squillante had envisaged. The issue was steel, and a tender involving 8.5 million kilos of the stuff. Squillante’s more elegant design only required 2 million, and so was vetoed. The covering built in its place (engineered by Luigi Corradi) wasn’t unpleasant to look at, but the twenty-eight L-shaped steel masts needed to support it were. The roof itself was made up of what the manufacturer, Caoduro, called ‘thermoformed radial tunnels’ – translucent polycarbonate panels, semi-circular along the length of the overhanging beams, like inverted gutters, and triangular in between, creating a sort of concertina effect. A sizeable gap was left between the perimeter of the upper tier and the underside of the roof, letting in light, ventilating the interior, and giving the impression that the canopy was somehow floating in mid-air.

From within it didn't look at all bad. From without it was a different story. Surrounded by steel pylons, the impact of the concrete bowl was lost. The extension to the upper tier, once finished, added yet more steel and detracted from the stadium's pre-existing rim, one of its most pleasing features. The effect was of something incomplete.

1990

The 2019 Summer Universiade (University Games) provided an incentive to address some of the stadium's shortcomings, but not many. This 'restyling project' involved replacing the faded red seats with a pleasing mix of blue, grey, white and yellow ones, refitting the athletics track, installing two large digital screens, and refurbishing the changing facilities and the sound and lighting systems.

What it didn't address was the stadium's exterior, which needed, and still needs, a lot of work. The underside of the concrete bowl is spalled and the area that surrounds it is a mess. It is accepted that the best thing to do would be to dismantle the tier extension – and even the roof – but it appears that there's not enough money to be made in salvaging all that steel. Other issues include poor sight-lines, the rarely used athletics track, the perpetually empty car-park, and a reduced capacity of 54,732, which is decent enough by most club's standards but insufficient by Napoli's. The club's president, Aurelio De Laurentiis, has mooted the possibility of building a new ground somewhere else, free from the municipality's intransigency and lack of investment, but you can't see it happening anytime soon.

Yet the Stadio Diego Armando Maradona, as it has been known since 2019, is the scene of the some of the greatest moments in Napoli's history. Moreover, it generates an atmosphere and has a unique charm that can be hard to find in more modern constructions. It will gladly do for the time being.

THE SARTORIAL ELEGANCE OF SERIE A: SEVEN SHIRTS

Football shirts in the late 1990s described a sartorial nightmare, and this was as true in Italy as anywhere else. That grey and black horizontally striped 'third shirt' that Ronaldo wore for Inter. Juventus away, in which they won their last European Cup. Fiorentina jerseys sponsored by Nintendo, made by Fila. Parma in yellow and blue hoops. If they had fitted, that would have been something. Instead, they flapped about like an artisan’s smock.

One of the reasons for this was the rise of football as a global phenomenon, promulgated by the theatre of Italia '90. Hitherto, replica shirts had been aimed primarily at kids; hooligans didn’t tend to wear them for fear of attracting the wrong sort of attention. All of a sudden, football was cool, and the fashion at that time was for loose fitting clothes. Companies that had only a passing association with the game, such as Puma, Reebok and Nike, decided that they’d like a piece of the action, which obliged more established firms, such as Adidas, Diadora and Kappa, to adopt more adventurous strategies. Nothing wrong with this from a business point of view, but fashion is not the same thing as good taste. Ergo, as football became more popular, the shirts became more ostentatious.

Up until the early 1980s, they hadn’t been ostentatious enough. What changed was the introduction of polyester and the right for clubs to bear commercial sponsors. It is counter-intuitive that things like this could make a difference, but they did. Something else: back then, club badges and manufacturers’ emblems were sewn on, rather than printed, dye-sublimated or ironed, which gave the shirts a tactility that belied their true value. As well as all that, they fitted properly, were invariably V-necked, and had collars.

Here are some of the finest examples.
 

INTERNAZIONALE, 1988-89

When Uhlsport took over from Le Coq Sportif in 1988, not much about Inter’s shirt changed: the sponsor remained the same, the club’s crest, the number of vertical stripes. What did change – aside from the manufacturer’s insignia and – was the textile: polyester in place of acrylic. This had an effect on the shade of blue, making it lighter, but it also allowed Uhlsport to radically overhaul the away shirt, which was white, installing a band of alternating blue and black rhomboids printed across the front of the shirt (the same motif would be adopted by the club generally, adorning flags and tickets).

The uppercase font of the sponsor, MISURA, is a delight, as are the two red dots that form part of it. The collar is simple, sleek and in harmony with the V-shaped neckline. Finally, Inter’s now defunct biscione ensign, with the gold star above, and Uhlsport’s logo, a black stylised letter U set against a white square with a red border. It was probably cheap to make but didn’t look it. How much of this was by design is another matter.

 
 
 

SAMPDORIA, 1988-90

 

Sampdoria’s shirt rarely fails to deliver, but Kappa’s effort towards the end of the 1980s is the best of the lot. (Ennerre’s wasn’t bad either.) Oddly, what sets it apart, aside from the sinuous neckline and collar, is the italicised typeface of the sponsor, ERG. Everything else about it is routine. It has to be because there’s so much going on: the red, white and black horizontal stripes, the stemma San Giorgio at its centre, the manufacturer’s trademark. Maybe this is why in 1981 Ennerre decided to move the club’s crest to the left sleeve – to tidy it up a bit. At any rate, in doing so they made room for the coccarda, reward for winning the Coppa Italia. Sampdoria lifted the trophy in 1988 and again in 1989, so this particular jersey was never without it.

ASICS took over from Kappa in 1990 and barely changed a thing. They did, however, use a thinner material, which had the effect of altering the colour slightly, making it a touch lighter. 

NAPOLI, 1988-90

The jersey in which Napoli won their first ever scudetto is regarded as one of football’s greatest, but on closer inspection it can be found wanting. The sponsor, Buitoni, certainly looks the business, but the material – usually acrylic, sometimes cotton – belonged to a different era. In 1988 Ennerre finally got with the programme. While they continued to issue shirts made from their trademarked lanetta (acrylic by another name), they also produced a polyester version, designed more than likely for the summer months.

At the same time Mars succeeded Buitoni as the club’s sponsor, initially written in white and then, later, black – presumably to improve visibility. Napoli won the UEFA Cup in 1989 and a second championship in 1990, whereafter the form of Diego Maradona began to deteriorate. It didn’t matter: he had become synonymous with Napoli and brought them unprecedented success, immortalising Ennerre’s shirt in the process.

 

FIORENTINA, 1989-90

 

When a friend introduced me to the delights of 110 Goals Italia Style in 1989 (on VHS) it wasn’t immediately obvious just how good Fiorentina’s shirt actually was. This is because they were wearing it with purple shirts and white socks, which detracted from its magnificence. When we sat down to watch the sequel in 1990, it became apparent (about a quarter of the way into it, as Baggio curls a diagonal ball into the back of Ascoli’s net) that Fiorentina were now wearing white shorts with purple socks. As well as that, they were sponsored by local rag La Nazione, rather than non-alcoholic aperitif Crodino, whose yellow and white lettering was less conspicuous than Crodino’s yellow and red.

The shirt itself, made by ABM, was micropatterned, employing subtle shifts within the texture of fabric to create a pattern out of ABM’s logo – a stylised ‘S’ for Sportivo. It had a ribbed collar, a V-neck and was of a moderately loose fit. The badge was the same that was reintroduced in 2021: a red fleur-de-lis appended to the letter ‘F’ set against a white circle with a purple border, far neater than the distended diamond-shaped crest Fiorentina used before and after. The following year ABM reinstated the purple shorts and Roberto Baggio was sold to Juventus.

A.S. ROMA, 1990-91

Roma had to wait until 1990 before Ennerre saw fit to provide them with polyester shirts, by which time the trend for micropatterning had begun to really take off. Strangely, Ennerre seemed to hedge their bets, supplying a plain, silky version as well as micropatterned one. (Napoli were presented with the same dilemma). The micropatterned version was hardly used, yet it is the superior iteration. The NR logo, repeated within the fabric of the shirt, is a neat design, and the jersey itself is a deeper, more satisfying shade of red. This, combined with Piero Gratton’s lupetto badge and the white italics of the sponsor, Barilla, qualify it as the club’s best shirt ever. Roma did well in it too, reaching the finals of both the UEFA Cup and the Coppa Italia, losing to Inter in the former and defeating Sampdoria in the latter. 

JUVENTUS, 1990-92

While AC Milan got to dress up in polyester as early as 1987, Juventus had to wait until 1988. Strange, considering that Kappa – the firm that issued both teams their kit – was a subsidiary of a larger firm called Maglificio Calzificio Torinese. The shirt in question, when it arrived, was sponsored by Ariston, the same company that had its name emblazoned upon the acrylic sarks Juventus wore the previous season. Then in 1989 Upim replaced Ariston, whose rounder font complimented the jersey’s simplicity. However, it still lacked something, which was colour. Juventus won the Coppa Italia in 1990, which provided it. Turns out they needn’t have bothered. Kappa, in a moment of genius, decided that their logo would now be coloured green. This seemingly innocuous detail meant that when the coccarda was removed in 1991, the shirt sustained its visual impact. In fact, it looked better without it, the green insignia on the right singularly complementing the two gold stars to the left. Danone succeeded Upim in ’92, and the svelte neckline and collar – the same that had graced the shirts of Sampdoria and Milan – were exchanged for something more substantial. Still a good effort, but the 1991-92 iteration takes the honours.

TORINO, 1992-93

By 1992-93, Italian football strips were on the slide, Umbro and Lotto being the main offenders. There were still some quality shirts knocking about – Brescia, Roma, Milan, Pescara, Juventus – but only one that really mattered: Torino’s. ABM were responsible, in a working relationship that stretched back to 1990. Nothing much changed throughout their three-year tenure, save for the sponsor in ‘91 (from Indesit to Beretta) and the introduction of a polo-style neck opening in ’92. (ASICS did a similar thing with Sampdoria’s jersey the same year but couldn’t resist adding horizontal stripes beneath the placket; less is always more.) Unlike with the shirts they’d supplied for clubs like Fiorentina, Pescara and Piacenza, ABM never embellished the fabric with their emblem. As a result, the deep burgundy really jumps out at you and contrasts nicely with the small amount of blue that features in Torino’s badge. It’s that collar that does it, though.

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If football tops like these were typical of the late 1990s, then they would be highly prized, the reason being that people of a certain age became fans of Italian football off the back of Gazzetta Football Italia, which ran from 1992 through to 2002. It’s question of cognitive bias: not of objective value judgements but subjective realities based upon nostalgia and fond memories. Precedently, football shirts had been governed by practical necessity, and were all the better for it. Thereafter, they became fashion accessories, as preposterous now as flares, bubble perms or a particularly bushy pair of sideburns.

[For a more in-depth analysis of each of these seven shirts, follow these links: Inter, Sampdoria, Napoli, Fiorentina, Roma, Juventus, Torino.]

LINER NOTES: IT'S RAINING TODAY [2023]

 

       1.   Elm Grove Window – The Clientele

       2.   Lovefingers – Silver Apples

       3.   It’s Raining Today – Scott Walker

       4.   Do Rainbows Have Ends – The Brian Jonestown Massacre

       5.   Templeroy – Felt

       6.   Along – Ghost Woman

       7.   Lose The Game – Holiday Ghosts

       8.   What I’m Missing - GracieHorse

       9.   Bell of Silence – Color Green

     10.   Child of the Moon – The Rolling Stones

     11.   Solicitor in Studio – The Fall

     12.   Dead Pool – Mission of Burma

     13.   When You Say - FACS

     14.   2 Lines – The Big Moon

     15.   Desert Nights – Lonnie Liston Smith & The Cosmic Echoes

     16.   Lwonesome Tonight – PJ Harvey

     17.   The Fool – Nighttime

     18.   Good Living Is Coming For You – Sweeping Promises

     19.   Mine Forever – Lord Huron

     20.   Strange Overtones – David Byrne & Brian Eno

     21.   Stars – Angel Olsen

     22.   Ballad of a Vision Pure – Cinema Red and Blue

     23.   Point That Thing Somewhere Else – The Clean

     24.   Chained to a Cloud – Slowdive

‘I Had to Say This’ by The Clientele was one of my favourite musical discoveries of 2019. Found on its own, as part of a compilation entitled Tim Peaks (Songs For A Late-Night Diner), I intended to follow up on my interest, but never did. In the end, it has taken a playlist on Spotify, compiled by the chap who introduced me to Sarah Records, for me to finally get around to it.

The methodology the chap employs when putting together such things appears to be unsound (or rather, I see no method at all). Yet the song that kicks off his anthology is the same that I’ve used to start mine. ‘Elm Grove Window’ is from The Clientele’s fourth album, It’s Art Dad, a collection of the band’s earliest recordings. Upon hearing it I immediately abandoned the chap’s playlist and proceeded to work my way chronologically through The Clientele’s entire back catalogue. Then I went back to the beginning and did it all over again. For a couple of weeks I listened to nothing else. When it was announced that the group were releasing a new album – their first in six years – I pre-ordered a copy, along with a ticket to see them play live at Rough Trade (East) in July.

‘Lovefingers’ by Silver Apples reminds me of trying to book a holiday in April, poring over google maps, searching for an appropriate destination. The reason I was listening to them in the first place had to do with somebody on Twitter comparing them to Stereolab. I don’t think they sound much like Stereolab, but what they do share is a fondness of electronic oscillators and pulsating rhythms. Silver Apples got there first, and were probably the first to get there. Released in 1968, their eponymously named debut album was considerably ahead of the game – only the vocals in any way date it. Indeed, Simeon and Taylor’s voices are the group’s weakest link, displaying a naivete at odds with the music. (Their second album, 1969’s Contact, addresses this issue somewhat.)

‘It’s Raining Today’ by Scott Walker doesn’t remind me of anything specific. Either Mark Radcliffe or Stuart Maconie played it on their weekend show in January, telling us that it was a favourite of Thom Yorke’s. You can see why, although Walker’s baritone is in a different league to Yorke’s slurred delivery. ‘It’s Raining Today’ is taken from Scott 3, which was Walker’s third solo album. Upon further investigation I decided I preferred Scott 4, his fifth, but ‘It’s Raining Today’ hit a chord.

There is a connection in my mind between The Brian Jonestown Massacre and Brighton. This may be because the first record of theirs I bought – Tepid Peppermint Wonderland: A Retrospective – was from Rounder Records on Brighton Square, back in 2007. So it seemed appropriate to go and see them play at the Concorde 2, rather than the Kentish Town Forum, especially considering my Brightonian friend (the former cohabitant) is also a fan.

Whether you thought it was a good gig would depend on whether or not you find the antics of temperamental artists entertaining or irritating. I've been lucky enough to witness Mark E Smith throwing microphones at sound engineers, but as amusing as it initially was it got boring pretty quickly. And so it was with Anton Newcombe, who abandoned one of his songs less than a minute in to berate his band for their supposed lack of enthusiasm, which I doubt anybody in the audience had noticed. A few others were then dropped from the setlist entirely. But it was a good a gig, and we made a good day of it. The latest BJM album was released a few weeks later, and I was able to identify some of the new songs we’d heard. 'Do Rainbows Have Ends?' stood out and sits nicely between Scott Walker and Felt.

‘Templeroy’ is the second track off of Felt’s first album to feature on one of my annual compilations, the other being ‘Cathedral’ in 2018. Why it took me that long to listen to the whole thing I’ve no idea, but it rounds off what amounts to a rather sombre introduction to this year’s almanac.

At the beginning of March, myself and a couple of friends flew to Milan to watch Inter play Lecce at football, walk around the place, and to marvel over Italian abstract art at the Museo del Novecento (highly recommended). The next month I went to Nice with my partner, to walk around the place, eat and drink, and to contemplate International Klein Blue at the Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art (don’t bother). There was plenty of sunshine in both instances.

Meanwhile, it rained a lot. February had been largely dry but March was the third wettest on record and April wasn’t much better. The end of the month was all right, but the rain returned in May, in time for the coronation of Prince Charles and his transmutation into a king.

Unless you believe in divine right, which hasn't been a thing since the Glorious Revolution of 1688, then there's no excuse for not recognising monarchy for what it really is: showbusiness. The pageantry, the pomposity, the costumes, the capes – it’s nothing more than light entertainment. The problem with all this mummery is that there are a lot of people who take it quite seriously and who are intolerant of those who don't. And yet king, queen, emperor, et al. are just words, just job descriptions. Charles Mountbatten-Windsor is just a human being, as was his mother. If such people represent us they do so out of expediency, not because there's anything inherently special about them, let alone sacred.

On the day, I met my brother and a common friend in Croydon to embark on a pub crawl. They’d been following London’s Tramlink, starting in Mitcham, working their way to Beckenham, before turning back towards Croydon, so they were well ahead of me when I joined them at ‘Art & Craft CR0’ on Surrey Street. From there we moved on to the Dog & Bull, Riff Raffs, The William Morris Pub in Merton Abbey, The Sultan in South Wimbledon, and finished up at The Alexandra in Wimbledon proper. It rained almost constantly, but we were at least successful in our bid to evade the royal sideshow.

Amongst the gloom, Spotify presented me with Ghost Woman and Color Green. I then found Holiday Ghosts on one of Contraflow’s Mixcloud playlists. Ghost Woman had a new album out – Anne, If – but I listened to their self-titled debut as well, which is where ‘Along’ comes from. Holiday Ghosts also had a new album out, had also made others, but I got stuck into their latest offering, Absolute Reality. Originally from Falmouth, their record is the best I’ve heard all year. In fact, I came close to including two tracks on this compilation: ‘Lose the Game’ and ‘B. Truck’.

‘Bell of Silence’ is from Color Green’s debut LP, released in 2022. When I heard Gracie Horse in June, I choose to put it before Color Green, given that they both make what could be described as ‘alternative country’ music. Together they round off the compilation’s second non-submersible unit, consisting of four relatively new songs.

It’s not often you discover an old track by one of your favourite bands, but this year it happened to me twice. ‘Child of the Moon’ by the Rolling Stones was the B-side to ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash’ and came with its own video, directed by Michael Lindsay-Hogg and featuring Eileen Atkins done up to like Lyn Redgrave in Gregory’s Girl. They made one for the A-side too but it’s not as interesting, lacking any sort of obvious narrative. Digitally enhanced restorations were issued in August 2022, but I didn’t get wind of this until April 2023.

The Stones were at the time (1968) a band in transition, moving between the psychedelic experimentation of Their Satanic Majesties Request towards the rootsier blues and folk of Beggars Banquet. In between stood 'Jumpin' Jack Flash', which was neither of these things. 'Child of the Moon', though, wouldn't have felt out of place on Satanic Majesties. It might not be their finest moment, but that the Stones could afford to use it as a mere B-side speaks volumes.

The situation with The Fall was slightly different. 'Solicitor in Studio' is taken from the group's fifth (or sixth if you count Slates) studio album, Room to Live, which is not highly regarded. Knowing this, I'd steered clear, although I did already have a few of the tracks that comprise it, most notably 'Hard Life in Country'. Reading Steve Pringle's excellent book You Must Get Them All – literally a track-by-track breakdown of The Fall's entire canon – I was compelled to fill in the gaps. Room to Live isn't actually a bad record. More than anything, its reputation suffers because of that which preceded it: Hex Enduction Hour, released earlier in the same year and considered to be one of The Fall's best works, if not their best. 'Solicitor in Studio' is the standout track on Room to Live, both musically and vocally. Karl Burns adds a second layer of bass to what’s already a pretty thick bassline, and Marc Riley provides some pleasing flourishes on keys. Mark E Smith's villainous cackle near the end suggests he’s having ball. (I am now fairly certain that I've listened to everything The Fall have ever recorded up to and including 1995, but I could be wrong.)

‘Dead Pool’ by Mission of Burma is the third and final tune on this anthology to be released in 1982 (the others being ‘Solicitor in Studio’ and ‘Templeroy’). Mission of Burma was a Spotify suggestion: it proposed ‘Trem Two’ off of Vs., their first album, but I preferred ‘Dead Pool’. ‘When You Say’ by a group called FACS appeared on another one of Contraflow’s playlists (Sticks & Stones – Tomorrow’s Hits Today). That was in February, so when the Mission of Burma tune turned up I determined it would sit well between the jovial tone of ‘Solicitor in Studio’ and the bass-heavy groove of ‘When You Say’.

I heard ‘2 Lines’ by The Big Moon on the radio while driving through Teddington. I heard it again around at The Wilkinsons, in their souped-up garden shed over a game of pool. ‘2 Lines’ is the first song off their album Here is Everything, which came out in 2022. It’s quite a ‘big’ song and I did wonder whether it would be better placed further down the list, but I think it works here, bringing to a close the compilation’s third non-submersible unit.

It pains me to give Spotify any credit because I would rather not use it. The issue is I’ve been working from home a lot, on a different laptop to the one my music’s on, in a separate room to where my record player is kept, and it’s a convenient thing to use Spotify. I might go for one of my existing playlists or I might try something new – an artist I’ve heard of but not heard. What I won’t do is listen to one of the playlists that Spotify has thrown together for me, such as ‘Shoegaze Classics’ or ‘Alternative 70s’.

My last two compilations have included a number of jazz and instrumental tracks, and I was hoping for more of the same this year; a change of genre can give a playlist shape and direction. I had a couple of other tunes waiting that I felt needed to come later, and jazz or funk would be a good device by which to get to them. After giving McCoy Tyner a go I put on some Grant Green. Spotify then figured I might like Lonnie Liston Smith. I accepted its advice, selecting specifically Expansions, recorded in 1974. I was familiar with the opening track because the guy who used to own a pager would use it whenever he DJ’d at parties or bars. But why did he never play ‘Desert Nights’?

My next discovery was ‘The Fool’ by Nighttime, a band put together by an American singer-songwriter called Eva Louise Goodman. According to her Bandcamp page, Nighttime is a project that ‘locates itself on a musical tree planted on the British Isles, perched atop the branch of folk leaning into sixties rock,’ although there’s a flavour to it that’s very much American. The album, Keeper Is The Heart, is worth the money, and the video for ‘Curtain is Closing’ is also worth a look.

‘The Fool’ begins too abruptly to follow on from ‘Desert Nights’, and so I needed something else to place in between. PJ Harvey offered a solution, although it’s not the most satisfying passage in this collection. ‘Lwonesome Tonight’ [sic] is as slow as it needs to be but exhibits tension, whereas ‘Deserts Nights’ does not. I didn’t even know Polly had a new record out, her first in seven years. I did know Sweeping Promises had an album on the way, and a European tour too. As explained in my liner notes for Here Comes that Beat Again, Sweeping Promises were supposed to play at 2022’s Wide Awake festival in Brockwell Park but had to cancel due to insurance issues pertaining to Covid. Confident that they wouldn’t be pulling the same stunt twice, I purchased tickets to see them.

Café de Levante, Cadiz

It was about now – the beginning of August – that my partner and I flew to Cadiz. The weather in July had been awful and I was looking forward to a spell of uninterrupted sunshine and warmth. I was simultaneously apprehensive about the journey itself: an aeroplane to Seville and then a pre-booked train to Cadiz. We had a three hour window to get from the airport to the train station, which would more than likely be enough, unless there were severe delays.

There were delays, although not severe. Our (Easyjet) flight left an hour later than scheduled. However, the bus from the airport to Seville-Santa Justa took no more than 20 minutes, leaving plenty of time for something to eat and a quick beer. Outside it was baking hot. The train itself was running late, so we had another beer. Our locomotive was then overtaken by the one behind it, which had my partner speculating as to whether or not we could get on that one. We couldn't. Tickets are non-transferable and the Spanish rail services don't sell more than their trains can cater for, as they do in the UK. This would ordinarily be a positive thing, given how clean, comfortable and reasonably priced they are. Unfortunately, as our train got with within 20 minutes reach, they wacked on another 15, and did so repeatedly. Over an hour and a half and several beers later, our train finally arrived. We booked into our hotel at quarter to midnight.

Never mind, Cadiz is a lovely place, and owing to its coastal proximity not nearly as hot as Seville. The food is of the highest quality and anything you drink tends to cost exactly €2: beer, coffee, wine, lemon soda, whatever. There aren't hordes of tourists and those who are there are themselves from Spain, so it makes little difference. On the way home we stopped for a day and a night in Seville, where I saw a roadside thermometer reading 46 degrees Celsius. It was all right as long you didn’t move.

Our Spanish vacation cut through summer like a knife. It was only August but when we got back it felt more like September, the record-breaking temperatures of June a distant memory. It wasn’t cold but it certainly wasn’t hot, and sunshine was in short supply.

'Mine Forever' by Lord Huron and 'Strange Overtones' by David Byrne & Brian Eno were those couple of tracks I had hanging around, waiting for an appropriate juncture. Both were chanced upon in The London Apprentice during Sunday Service. (Sunday Service is a long held tradition – predating Jarvis Cocker's radio show of the same name – whereupon myself, my Cornish friend, and whoever else might be around, meet for few afternoon pints in and around Isleworth.) Lord Huron – a group, rather than an entitled individual – are from Los Angeles. 'Mine Forever' reminds me of The Handsome Family. ‘Alternative country’ in other words.

The version of 'Strange Overtones' we heard was actually a cover by an American band called Whitney. It's a good effort but I read an interview with the group's two core members that rubbed me up the wrong way, so I went with the original. The London Apprentice isn’t cheap, the service is slow, and on a Friday night there’s usually some goon with an acoustic guitar banging out renditions of everyone’s favourites, other than my own. But on a Saturday night or Sunday afternoon it’s not a bad place to drink, especially when they get the music right, as they had in this instance.

By the end of the month the weather was showing signs of recovery. Just as well, as I had a bank holiday date over in Wapping with my Cornish friend and the former cohabitant from Brighton. We were to repeat the previous year's pub crawl, but with minor alterations; The Prospect of Whitby and the Captain Kidd in Wapping, The Mayflower and The Angel in Rotherhithe, the Old Justice and Anchor Tap in Bermondsey, and one for the road in The Shipwright Arms, London Bridge.

The following evening I was in the St. Margarets Tavern’s, enjoying what I feared might be the last of the warm weather, when something caught my ear: ‘Forgiven/Forgotten’ by Angel Olsen. I had no way of telling who it was – the staff there wouldn’t have had a clue – and so I had to remember what words of it I could and then search online when I got home. It turned out to be the lead single off of Angel’s second album: 2014’s Burn Your Fire for No Witness, which sounds like a collaboration between Roy Orbison, Patti Smith and Leonard Cohen, in the best possible way. At first I was going to put ‘High & Wild’ on here but went with ‘Stars’ because I thought it would work better with those I’d be placing either side of it, and Olsen’s vocal really stands out.

The next two tracks were added in July. Cinema Red and Blue is a musical collaboration centered around David Christian from Comet Gain, and it’s a lot of fun. ‘Ballad of a Vision Pure’ is a hard and fast number and kind of operates as the compilation’s climax – or in conjunction with ‘Stars’ it does. I was lucky enough to find a near-mint copy on eBay for £10.99, with free delivery, which considering how few were pressed is an absolute steal.

I’d found out about The Clean a month or so earlier but couldn't decide what song of theirs to include: ‘Billy Two’, ‘Anything Could Happen’ or ‘Point That Thing Somewhere Else’, all taken from the Boodle Boodle Boodle EP, released in 1981. In the end I went with ‘Point That Thing Somewhere Else’, despite it being less representative of the group’s output; a bit Velvet Underground, whereas their other stuff is more Modern Lovers. In any case, The Clean were pioneers of what’s been termed the ‘Dunedin Sound’: Dunedin being the second-largest city on New Zealand’s South Island, the sound being a rough conglomeration of post-punk and psychedelic pop. [Incidentally, The Clean’s co-founder and drummer, Hamish Kilgour, contributes spoken-word vocals to the Cinema Red and Blue album track 'Jesse Lee Kincaid'. Sadly, Hamish passed away in 2022.]

Wapping

In mid-September, following a spell of unusually hot weather that just about made up for the tripe we were served up in July and August, I got myself to Banquet Records to purchase the last remaining copy of Keeper Is The Heart. The new record by Slowdive was playing – Everything Is Alive. I presumed my playlist to be complete at this point but decided I may as well stick ‘Chained to a Cloud’ on the end of it. Unfortunately, it has been brought to my attention that Slowdive have not been performing this song on their recent tour, which may influence whether or not I go and see them.

Before making a decision about that, I had a couple of gigs lined up for the last week of October. Sweeping Promises were on at Studio 9294 in Hackney Wick, overlooking the River Lee Navigation, surrounded by dilapidated warehouses, newbuild flats, artisan workshops and bars selling ‘craft’ beer. Whether by design or by accident, Studio 9294 has great acoustics. Or maybe the sound guy was good at his job, or Sweeping Promises know their way around their instruments and sound equipment. Either way, the gig was one of the best I’ve ever been to, and more than made up for their absence at the Wide Awake festival.

A couple of days later and I was in Plymouth, with my partner, my Cornish friend and a few local associates, to watch Holiday Ghosts at the Underground on Mutley Plain. I can only think Holiday Ghosts were playing there due to their Falmouth connections, because bands like theirs don’t normally play in Plymouth, a city lacking in decent small-to-medium sized music venues. Another brilliant show, although I wouldn’t have got to hear ‘Lose the Game’ if I hadn’t uncharacteristically called out for it towards the end of their set: ‘This is for Plymouth Docks,’ the singer/guitarist said. (I was wearing a T-shirt, purchased from The Modernist, with the logo for the British Transport Docks Board and the words 'Plymouth Docks' emblazoned across the front.)

When we left the venue it was raining heavily, as it had done throughout much of the time we were there, and would continue to do on our return to London. And the leaves started to fall off the trees in their droves.

[Listen to here.]

THE SARTORIAL ELEGANCE OF SERIE A: S.S.C. NAPOLI, 1988-90 [NR/ENNERRE]

Napoli’s colours are tenuously informed by those of their ancestors: Naples Foot-Ball Club and Unione Sportiva Internazionale Napoli. The former wore sky and navy blue striped shirts with black shorts and socks; the latter, darker blue shirts and socks with white shorts.

US Internazionale Napoli were in fact the result of a schism within Naples FBC itself. In 1911, wishing to engage teams from the north and perhaps feeling that the existing organisation wasn’t ambitious enough, the foreign (mostly English) members of Naples Foot-Ball Club decided to go it alone. The split imposed a financial burden on both parties and so in 1922 they re-amalgamated, taking on the name Foot-Ball Club Internazionale-Naples. As a sort of compromise, they would wear white-trimmed sky blue jerseys and socks paired with white shorts, the same that would become the colours of Associazione Calcio Napoli.

Yet the arrangement seemed to be skewed in the expatriates' favour. The appointed president, Emilio Reale, had also been president of Internazionale, and their chosen ground in Agnano was the one they used to play on. Even the sports’ press appeared to be in on it, habitually referring to the team as 'Internazionale' in their match reports.

The years that followed were relatively uneventful until the signing of the Charter of Viareggio in 1926, which granted the team entry into the newly formed Divisione Nazionale. The charter was essentially a Fascist initiative, and so under duress the company’s shareholders elected to take on the name Associazione Calcio Napoli, which had a more nationalist ring to it (one of the provisions of the charter was a ban on foreign players). It is this incarnation of the club that is officially recognised as being the first.

Napoli struggled and would have been relegated (twice) if the FIGC hadn’t intervened, on the basis that for the National Division to succeed it needed teams in it from the south. Just as well, because 1928-29 would effectively be a qualifying tournament for the leagues that were to proceed it: Series A and B

Again, Napoli got lucky. The original idea was to create two groups of 16 with the best eight in each being rewarded with a place in Serie A, while the remaining 16 teams would be allocated places in Serie B. Napoli finished eighth in their group, tied on points with Società Sportiva Lazio. A play-off ensued, which ended in a draw. A replay was on the cards until the club’s chairman, Giorgio Ascarelli, was able to convince the head of the FICG to expand Serie A to accommodate 18 teams, allowing both Napoli and Lazio to qualify. (Triestina were the beneficiary in the other group.)

Giorgio Ascarelli may have realised that this was a defining moment in the club’s history, for he prepared accordingly. William Garbutt, the English coach who had revolutionised Italian football during his 15 year stint with Genoa, was poached from southern rivals AS Roma. Attacking midfielders Antonio Vojak and Marcello Mihalich were signed from Juventus and Fiumana respectively, providing striker Attila Sallustro with support (although he’d done all right without them, scoring 22 goals the previous season). Finally, work began on a new purpose-built ground: Stadio Partenopeo – also known as Stadio Vesuvio, and soon to become Stadio Giorgio Ascarelli when the man who financed it died suddenly in February 1930, just a couple of weeks after its inauguration. The club finished the season in fifth place.

Napoli breezed through the 1930s but were then relegated in 1942. In 1944 they moved to a stadium in Vomero on a hill on the northwestern edge of the city, before events caught up with them and they were forced to suspend all activities.

In the aftermath of the Second World War Napoli were obliged to take part in the Serie A/B Centro-Sud Championship, a temporary solution designed to overcome the impracticality of travelling long distances in a country ravaged by conflict. Because most Serie A teams were from the north, they constituted one division, while the central and southern Serie A and B teams were put together in another. Given that Napoli were effectively a Serie B outfit they weren’t fancied, but won their group regardless. Not only did this put them through to the final, national round, but it ensured promotion to Serie A for the subsequent year.

Following a brief spell in Serie B from 1948-50 Napoli then managed eleven consecutive seasons in Italy’s top flight, whilst also constructing and moving into the Stadio San Paolo. On being relegated in 1961 they made it back into Serie A at the first attempt, winning the Coppa Italia in the process. The next year, after reaching the quarter finals of the Cup Winner’s Cup, where they lost to OFK Beograd on away goals, Napoli were again relegated. Burdened with debt, local businessman Roberto Fiore bought into the club in 1964, making it a joint-stock company. Now known as Società Sportiva Calcio Napoli, they won promotion the following year wearing for the most part their away strip: all white with a sbarra (sash or 'bar') tracing a diagonal line from the right shoulder of the shirt down to the left. [When running in the opposite direction, it is instead referred to as a banda.]

Former president Achille Lauro was still a 40% stakeholder and so invested in the team, bringing in Omar Sívori from Juventus and José Altafini from Milan. It paid dividends. SSC Napoli finished the championship in third place and were also victorious in the Coppa delle Alpi. They achieved this wearing a darker shade of blue, introduced in 1960. For 1966-67, which was also relatively successful, they would revert to the lighter blue more commonly associated with the club.

It would be another ten years before Napoli won another trophy – the Coppa Italia in 1976 – which is not to say they did badly in between. The club regularly finished in the higher echelons of Serie A and made the semi-finals of the Italian Cup on three occasions, wearing sky blue white-trimmed jerseys. The next significant change, both in the team’s fortunes and its livery, occurred in the mid-1980s.

When Diego Armando Maradona signed for Napoli in 1984 their kit supplier was a manufacturer called Linea Time, more commonly associated with cycling. Despite doing a decent job, Ennerre/NR took over in 1985. Their acrylic jersey, sponsored by Buitoni, did away with the white trim and added a collar. [Ennerre also supplied a trimmed polyester version with faint pinstripes, possibly intended for warmer conditions.] The same strip was used for a consecutive season whereupon Napoli won their first Scudetto and third Coppa Italia.

In 1987, as testament to their recent achievements, Napoli’s shirt was adorned with both the scudetto and the coccarda – a shield and a roundel respectively, incorporating the colours of the Italian flag. To make room for the scudetto, the club's badge was moved to the left shoulder. The coccarda, meanwhile, was positioned directly beneath Ennerre's logo, just above the 'B' in Buitoni. It looked a mess. The club did, however, purchase the Brazilian striker Careca.

After winning nothing in 1987-88 the shirt could have potentially reverted to its previous configuration. Instead, the confectioners Mars took over sponsorship from food producer Buitoni. 'Mars' was initially printed in white, but was switched to black about halfway through the season, presumably to enhance its definition. Moreover, NR issued the shirt in two different materials: polyester and lanetta, which is basically acrylic. New signings included the Brazilian Alemão from Atlético Madrid, Luca Fusi from Sampdoria, and Massimo Crippa from Torino. Napoli finished runners-up to Inter in the championship, lost to Sampdoria in the final of the Coppa Italia, but beat Stuggart over two legs to win the UEFA Cup. This unadorned jersey remained unchanged for following season, as Maradona led Napoli to victory in Serie A. They won more games, scored more goals, amassed more points than during their previous title-winning campaign, but the winning margin was less: two points more than AC Milan, compared to three ahead of Juventus. Maradona was top scorer with 16 league goals, Careca second with 10.

Maradona’s final season with Napoli would also be Ennerre’s (before Umbro stepped into the fold, ruining everything). NR didn’t see fit to change what wasn’t broken, although there were a few twists. Again, two shirts were made, both in polyester: a plain, almost silky iteration as before, and a matt version micro-patterned with the NR insignia. (AS Roma were presented with the same dilemma.) If that wasn’t enough, an alternative ‘Cup Shirt’ was produced. Blue with an undulating white band across the front, it was worn in the 5-1 drubbing of Juventus in the 1990 Supercoppa Italiana, against Cosenza in the Coppa Italia, Spartak Moscow in the second round of the European Cup (whereupon Napoli were beaten on penalties), and in a number of league games early on in the season. The template was also used for a red, third shirt, while the away kit was white with pale blue rhomboids running horizontally across the chest. Napoli ended the season in a disappointing eighth place.

Cup Shirt - 1990-91

Considering how few changes Ennerre actually made, it is amazing to think how many different jerseys they produced during their six year tenure. The 1986-7 edition seems to be the most popular, in which Napoli won their first scudetto. You might equally fancy the first Mars shirt; it might simply come down to whether you like your fonts with or without serifs. Or maybe you prefer the contrast in colour the scudetto and the coccarda bring, even if the overall effect is a bit busy. Whichever version you favour, they’re all representative of a specific moment in time: Maradona in his pomp, and the fairy tale he bestowed upon the city of Naples and its people.