Clementine March at the Horse Hospital

I heard one of Clementine's songs on Riley and Coe's BBC6 show and it was so good I booked a ticket for Saturday's show at the Horse Hospital.

It was different crowd from the usual, which was quite refreshing. There was a lot on because it was Valentine's night, but there was still a decent audience, right from the start. First support Eva May reminded me a little of Rowen Bridler; her close-chord piano playing and intriguing melodies were very listenable, and she didn't play a wrong note. The second support was Louise Chenneviere, who started off on guitar with two Britney Spears covers; she told us that she had just written a book on her. She moved between guitar and piano, trying out new songs and singing in a combination of French and English.

In the breaks, I chatted to Rachel Horwood, who I met in Gina's Choir and who drums for Clementine, Pearl and her friend who does nursery rhymes in primary schools, and Rozi Plain, who it turns out is a friend of Jim the banjo player's daughter in Winchester. Marie was there too sitting at the front; it was a musician's night as well as a punter's night.

Clementine is a really energetic and confident guitar player, with a really varied and constantly-surprising chord cupboard. She also pays close attention to the way her guitar sounds. It's like listening to a kinetic sculpture, all in the service of distinctive songwriting. She played the song Lucie, which was the one I liked so much, but also a set of songs that reminded me of Kevin Ayers, especially the new ones. I told her that afterwards when I went to buy an album (I had to), and she was very pleased.

Rachel on drums and the bass player Ollie played sensitively and dynamically all the way through. I haven't seen so much eye contact between members of a band for a very long time.

Sometimes, 'a good night' is a social comment and sometimes it's a conclusion after a night where I've been playing. Saturday's gig was a good night because of the music. I found it inspiring and refreshing, which is a very good start to a new year of music, I think.

PEG Whitstable 'Library' Exhibition

The Profanity Embroidery Group puts on regular exhibitions and are currently preparing a Grenfell Quilt, a very large and wide-ranging project. This Library-themed exhibition has examples of all different kinds of embroidered responses to the idea of books and reading. The quality of the work is incredible.

I first came across their work about ten years ago when the poet Leah Thorne collaborated with them in Folkestone- their embroidered wedding dresses were hilarious, and very subversive. I've followed their sweary antics ever since.

Late last year there was a call-out for submissions (fnurr, fnurr) for the Jan Lewis Memorial Award and I grabbed a tea towel that I couldn't be bothered to iron, and started to embroider the reason why I started writing about women in punk all those years ago, much in the style of a Delft tile. It was good to have something to take my mind off the anniversary of being so ill at the end of 2024, and I made myself finish it in time for the deadline. Much to my astonishment, the group chose my work for the exhibition, and I went to see it today. The chance to exhibit it was in memory of one of their founder members, Jan Lewis. 

Seriously, these women and hardcore brilliant embroiderers and have the best senses of humour. It was great to chat with them, and see their work in real life. Fucking brilliant.

I think there must be something in the water in Whitstable. I found a pocket of sunshine on a bench near the beach and two old geezers were having a loudly-broadcast conversation in which it was impossible to discern anything other than the f-word. 

Three cockwombling cheers to PEG for fighting back with such skill and aplomb! 

The exhibition is on up to, and including, Monday 16th February

Food Poisoning

Two of us got food poisoning last week from burritos that we ate in a restaurant. 

Horrible! 

Kitchen managers need to have eagle eyes to make sure everyone washes their hands properly, and that food is stored correctly and not left lying around.

The restaurant didn't want to believe us, but when two people out of four get the same thing after eating the same dish, and the other two who didn't are perfectly all right, then there is no argument.

Joni Mitchell

 

Robert Wyatt Plays Trumpet

 

New Women's Songbook, Hythe

It was stottin' doon with rain on the motorway down to the south-east coast. I'd had food poisoning the day before thanks (we think) to dodgy burritos, and was still a little woozy, but the drive down was actually fine.

After taking a risk with some fantastic chips from Torbay fish'n'chip shop, we wandered back to the venue,upstairs at Remedies, where Lorraine Lucas, who has organised the entire Folkestone Songwriting Festival, kicked off the night with two songs, one by Lucinda Williams and one of her own compositions. She is a fantastic host ,and the evening picked up on her bonhomie from the start.

Catherine Hiesiger was the first songwriter to play. Her songs examine setbacks in her life, disappointments and difficulties which she articulates with intensity and skilful melodies and guitar picking. I'd been chatting to a chap earlier on who had been describing his difficulties in finding the chords to underpin the meaning of his lyrics, and I suppose that particularly alerted my senses to hwo well that works with Catherine's songs. Luckily she has fallen in love and she sang a very beautiful tribute to her wife Jo, who was sitting in the audience.

She'd also sung songs about her family, so it felt natural to begin my set with Three Maple Men, my tribute to my Gran who gives me strength still. I'd chosen a set that I would enjoy playing completely solo- and also one that reflected the fact that this was a night that celebrated women songwriters. So I played The Song of the Unsung Heroine; it also felt like the sort of night that people would join in with At The Bathing Pond, and join in they did, harmonies and all. I finished with Women of the World, and people joined in with that one as well.

Isobel Kimberley completed the bill, her deep voice filling the room with songs of sex and death, although her song about her father, written for her mother to fill the gap, was much broader lyrically than that. Isobel uses a small South Asian bellow-organ that provides a drone for a lot of her songs, and also has a looper which she uses sparingly to create delicate guitar harmonies for her picking. Altogether, she has a unique sound.

It was a pleasure to be part of a night where the audience concentrated intently on the lyrics. Lyrics are so precise and unique to the person writing them, and when they are really listened to it makes a song writer feel that they are communicating properly with people. That was a really important part of the evening. There was no background talking, and a member of the audience even made sure the door didn't slam when people entered and left the room. Now that's next-level respect.

It was also a real laugh to talk to Lorraine, who also comes from a big family. We swapped tales of horrendous holidays in Scotland in the rain, and midge-clouds with chaos of children and pecking-orders, and all that comes from lifelong stereotyping in family positions. Ha!

The journey back was just as rainy. Why doesn't my car look clean? Well, motorways are bloody dirty, that's why. But it was well worth the journey. I'm re-living the night in my head: it was one of those special sorts of nights.

Tonight in Hythe (Kent)

 

HMS Pinafore at The Coliseum

This was a Christmas outing, shunted on to February because I tried too late to book tickets. 

Mid-week, rainy (oh so rainy), dark and gloomy outside! The Coliseum, home of the English National Opera, was bustling with throngs of people. We took our places, centre of the circle, fielding the grumpy people at the end of the row who didn't think they should have to stand up to let people slip past to their seats beyond them. Gloomheads!

The sound of an orchestra tuning up is a lovely sound; even that along makes a night out seeing live music productions really special. The delicate, miniature sounds of the violins, the assertive parp of the bassoon, the trill of the clarinet (yes! it still plays). The audience rustles.

The performance begins with a skit between Mel Giedroyc, who pops up at intervals within the production, and John Savournin, the multitalented Captain of the Pinafore. The tone is set: this is going to be carry on up the G&S. 

Parodying a parody? Will we like it? You bet we will! 

As soon as the curtain rises, we are blasted with joyful colour. The jolly crew are immaculately dressed in blue and white stripes and from the first sung note, you realise that this is going to be a fabulous production. The quality of the singing was something else; God only know how many rehearsals it took to get the harmonies and diction so crisp and crunchy. It was absolutely faultless, and so was the very camp but tight choreography. There were nods to Busby Berkley (even a bit of tap), and again this was flawlessly executed. Special mention to Henna Mun for an absolutely gorgeous voice, as clear as a bell. She was so sweet that even I fell in love with her, and I'm as straight as a die. 

The costumes were lovely: when the sisters, cousins and aunts appeared, the stage was crammed with gigantic crinolines in every imaginable colour. Raining outside? Pah! We were immersed in every colour of the rainbow and more; the choreography took full advantage of the mechanics of the dresses, which revolved and swung in perfect time with the score.

My criticism? At times there were so many visual gags you missed stuff. But this was counterbalanced by so many things: waiting till three quarters of the way through the production to realise that what's known as the 'Jonathan Ross R', a trope used by the Admiwal, was a set up for the 'high ranking' gag that had the audience in fits of laughter. Other moments of genius included the scenery that carried on revolving and necessitated a song being sung twice as the Captain, the Admiwal and Josephine negotiated the stairs up to the poop deck (fnurr, fnurr) and back down again, twice. Another was Rafe setting the Admiwal's song to music: they muttered in a huddle for a moment, said 'Got it', then took the scrap of paper over to the orchestra pit; the musicians scrabbled for a moment, said 'Got it', and then carried on with the song.

Stars of the show were the chorus, whose whole performance was perfectly pitched and detailed. They didn't miss a beat, didn't get distracted, and gave it all 100%. Their ability to sing while performing complex choreography was phenomenal- they'd make excellent drummers, the lot of them. 

The audience can see when performers are going through the motions, and a surreal operetta like this works particularly well when it's performed for real, which this definitely was. We were completely drawn into their world of remarkably pertinent nonsense. It completely transformed our slightly miserable February moods, and we went home with rosy cheeks and warm hearts. Brilliant.

Bob Dylan: Subterranean Homesick Blues

This is for a combined exhibition and gig I'll be having in Valencia in April. The drawings will be a combination of famous and not-so-famous musicians.

Waiting In For A Delivery

I'm doing something called 'waiting in for a delivery'. I don't normally do this, because I rarely buy anything that I can't take home easily.

I've been waiting in for the delivery for almost two weeks now. 

I 'bought' a TV from John Lewis the trusted retailer which never turned up, despite me 'waiting in for the delivery', so I had to get a refund. I shopped at Curry's instead, and paid extra for 'next day delivery'. It didn't arrive, and I got a perky text to say it would be delivered the next day, when I wouldn't be in. So I rescheduled it to yesterday; it was confirmed. Did it arrive yesterday? 

Ha ha! Don't be silly!

It's supposed to be arriving today. I have printed out all the order details, because tomorrow I'm going to go into a branch of Currys and be annoying. Their telephone 'helpline' illegally says that you have to sort out a delivery problem yourself. Martin Lewis says you don't. Watch out tomorrow, Currys!

Meanwhile, I've had a bit of fun getting the Twitter chatbots of both Currys and John Lewis to talk to each other. I think romance is afoot. As for the delivery companies, they are far too savvy to allow people to contact them via social media!

I know I have written possibly the most boring post ever. But just imagine how I feel!

Postscript: after checking the DPD website and seeing the progress of the delivery actually was going backwards, I went into central London, and snarled at the manager of one of the Currys shops there. I phoned and cancelled the order while in the shop. Some poor chap was also trying to return something and he got fobbed off; unfortunately he has no mobile phone so couldn't cancel his order. Interestingly, the shop manager got into a verbal tangle, and more or less told me outright that people shouldn't order stuff online! So there you go.

Woman Unloading A Lorry

 

UnDo-Rian Gray

In an opposite direction to Oscar Wilde's painting in the attic, I'm thinking of creating an embroidered self-portrait, and adding wrinkles as I get older. Ho ho!

Woman With Green Bouclé Coat And Dachshund At The Tube Barrier

 

Man with Piccolo Trumpet

 

Folkestone Songwriting Festival Friday 6th February

Tickets here: https://wegottickets.com/event/686497