I'll be taking part in a debate tonight on BBC Radio 5 Live about Vinyl versus Streaming, around 11.20 p.m.
Listen in here:
Me and Offsprog One had a late Portugese lunch in Vauxhall after I'd spent the morning marking (more to come tomorrow). It was lovely. I don't think I have ever had such a fresh Pastel de Nata, warm from the oven.
Afterwards I walked along the South Bank, past the long, long memorial wall for people who have died of Covid. I found a pen in my bag and wrote Julia's name up there, Julia Craik from the Premises. For such a good, kind and imaginative person to have suffered and died last year, right at the beginning: I was asked to run another song writing workshop there but I can't manage to, at least not yet. She was so lovely. So I just wrote her name in one of the waiting pink hearts and sent her some love.
Around the London Eye, it was very crowded and smelt of chips and cooking oil. What a dump the area around County Hall has become; perhaps a statue made of consolidated chip fat would be a good memorial to the odious Margaret Thatcher, who cheapened life and brought out the worst in everybody. Further on, outside the Royal Festival Hall, it wasn't so bad. I crossed Waterloo Bridge and walked up through Covent Garden, noting with sadness the closure of the Tintin shop, and later, up Tottenham Court Road, the big, empty grey windows of former Habitat, once a beacon of British optimism and sophistication.
People were thin on the ground, this end of town. There was a man, right down the other end, with a shopping trolley, yelling at the top of his voice. As I walked down the road to Warren Street he was following behind, making people alarmed with his aggression and volume. Should I call the police?
I saw the police 'stopping' someone last Monday, five policemen and women, and one civilian, who they had flattened on the pavement. When a woman came out from a nearby house to film them, they climbed off him, put the handcuffs away, sat the chap up on the wall and called an ambulance. His crime? Shouting. I spoke to him because I heard him saying that he didn't want to get into an ambulance. I told him it would be better to do that than to stay there with those five police officers, that he needed to move the situation on. I think he understood. They would have done him harm.
The Metropolitan Police are bullies, not public servants. I didn't like the look in the eyes of those police officers. Today, I wondered whether to simply wait for the shouting man, to ask him to stop shouting in case the police were called. I could not work out what was more important, his safety or my own. In the end, I decided mine was, but I'd like to be able to calm a person down at some point.
I need to learn how to do this.
Click here for 180 minutes of one minute tracks! This is such a good show with a lot of my music pals' music on it: Lester Square, Spinmaster Plantpot, Bettina Shroeder, James A Smith, Lucinda Sieger, Papernut Cambridge, Tigersonic and Dirty Viv. A selection box of poetry, songs and electronic music perfect for a rainy afternoon. My track Little Heart-shaped People From Venus is in the first part:
Turns out it wasn't enough for today. Why (Beyer) go to all the lengths (sic) to create a good-sounding set of headphones and then give us a curly lead to attach them to the interface with? As a lifelong guitarist (half my life, anyway), I learned never to buy curly leads because they break up inside and have to be replaced much more frequently than straight ones. Is it that?
It's just that when they are stretched not even very far, they want to reduce the space between the person using them and the equipment they are plugged into, and twang and pull constantly, which is really irritating if you are concentrating on singing. It's even more irritating if you are concentrating on playing your guitar, because you have to dial up new music memory to resist being pulled into a collision with the equipment by the enthusiastic elasticity of the headphone lead! Oh, I know I'm exaggerating a little, but you don't need additional movements and tension when you're recording. At worst the curly headphone lead bounces along with the music, which is utterly ghastly.
Trust me, I'm a musician!
I'm just about to start recording, this time with different guitar which is easier to play than the Green Goddess, and has less of a fret buzz problem when I'm playing arpeggios, which is what I'm recording at the moment. I'm still having to play the song in sections, but that's so normal I don't know why I'm even documenting it.
The street outside is waking up: lorries are growling, motorbikes snarling and cars whisking past forcing grimy air through the cracks in the window and door. I have made a very strong cup of coffee so I may be racing the click track when I start recording. It's funny because lockdown and the luxury of time have affected the length of songs I've written. A lot of them are more than four minutes long, though they seemed short at the time. I'm in the process of editing them to a more reasonable and listenable length, ditching unnecessary lyrics, allowing the music to complete the meaning, and not overdecorating the music.
Meanwhile, I'm thinking about the odious Nigel and his taxi service comments. How wonderful that the RNLI has seen such an increase in donations! I had been wondering how empathisers could take down psychopaths (the very notion simply doesn't work, does it?): maybe some sort of extreme rebalancing could do the trick. How could that work with Bezos and Musk, though? How could people undo the aggressive incursions into space by billionaires who have simply lost the plot?
And watching the morning news, there's the Japanese authorities 'clearing out' homeless people from areas around the Olympic venues. This is exactly what the UK did. Our homeless people (yes, they are ours) were evacuated to Brighton for the duration, to the end of Offsprog One's street, as it happens; that's how I know about it. So let not have any British moralising about the cruel Japanese authorities. Maybe it might occur to someone one day that the huge expense of the Olympics and the glorification of the human body should extend to people we don't make films about and give medals to, as well as to those we do. Did we rehouse the homeless people in London in the Olympic village? That might have been the kind thing to do, mightn't it? And in that regenerated area, there might even have been jobs for them, too. It takes a lot of strength and perseverance to survive on the streets, a lot of endurance. Olympian skills, in fact. Hmmm.
I'm still working. The schedules we have for marking re-sit student work increasingly encroach on time we should be spending on research and relaxing in the summer, which means that the stress of one year carries on to the next. I don't think stressed teachers and lecturers can do their jobs properly.Where adrenaline helps bankers (or supposedly does), people who work in education need patience and thinking time to work out new ways to keep students interested in the things they need to learn to thrive in their respective professions after they have graduated. I have so much to say about my life as a University lecturer, and I'm looking forward to being free to say them when the time comes.
I know we're not in the medical profession. I honestly don't know how they cope with the constant government carping and insincerity. My experience of breaking my elbow led to a renewed admiration for the collaborative and seamless way that A&E works. At one point, a surgeon between cases took a blood sample from me because nobody else had time. They volunteered to do it without a thought for it being below their pay grade. I could feel the pressure, but all the way through I was treated with kindness, gentleness and respect: back to empathy again. I have a million times more admiration for our NHS staff than I do for the ridiculous antics of middle aged and elderly white men and their metal space penises.
That's enough for today.
I spent a couple of hours this morning editing and mixing a song, which has rescued it from being annoyingly Wrong. I cut out a verse (economy is queen), boosted the bass EQ on the guitar, compressed it, and panned some of the additional overdubs about the place to give it a bit of space to breathe. All that remains is a lead vocal performance on a proper microphone, but it's too noisy today what with the rain outside and it being wash day inside.
So I settled down to play a rather difficult guitar part but couldn't nail it. I had fret buzz problems even though I cut my nails and could play it perfectly in time. Those chords just wouldn't sit right even after I worked out a way to do it. I guess I was just tired after the mornings session. So I've made a pie instead, and will eat that with peas, and be glad that at least the first track has worked out OK.
Every time I record I learn more about how to make things sound good, so getting things wrong is a learning experience more than a disappointment. I am 100% confident in my songs, but the difficult thing is holding back: I know the arrangements and mixing are going to be such fun, but I've got to get really good basics before that, and I'm an impatient person in some ways. But not all.
Also, playing guitar parts over and over is rehearsing. Would I sit for an hour and play just one little bit over and over to get it right? I would not! And these are songs that I haven't played live before so they're not in my muscle memory yet. I think perhaps what has felt like a not very productive day will prove to have been much more productive than I thought, further down the line.
BTW Gideon Coe played not only half a Chefs session last night, he also played No Man's Land straight after one of the tracks. That was a great thing to come back to after a seaside trip!
Gideon Coe: https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m000y6lz
The roads through Essex have seen better days and are busy with articulated lorries heading to Harwich, but it's worth the drive for the pleasures of Walton-on-the-Naze. It's a classic nuts'n'bolts seaside town with chip shops, a cacky pier (that you can't walk to the end of) with an amusement arcade, some basic rides and lots of serious fisherman; and sea and sand as far as the eye can sea. The beach is fantastic, with yellow sand so clean and lovely you could almost eat it, divided into family-size sections with wooden breakwaters, and lines of colourful beach huts bursting with people drinking tea, drying off, reading, smiling and generally looking happy to be alive.
You can walk around the coast, eat chips, buy an ice cream, and it was very tempting to try out some of the rides but a three mile walk in the bracing wind wore us out. We decided to go to Frinton for a cup of tea, which was a mistake. Frinton belongs firmly to the elderly in spirit, and has an air of 'keep out' so overpowering that we gave upon the cup tea after sitting for fifteen minutes at a café where the waitress chatted with the regulars, and completely ignored the incomers.
Walton on the Naze won hands down: friendly (local chaps directed us to their favourite chippy), fun and very beautiful. It even has nicer beach huts. The ones at Frinton have their backs to the sea and even the little swifts that flitted about underneath them didn't save the day. Next time I'm taking my swimming costume to Walton- that sea looked irresistible, and that sand looked so soft on the feet.
Also: Walton-on-the-Naze likes cash not credit cards!
One of the women who features in my book is Ms Melody, a sound engineer who has, after many trials and tribulations, opened a cutting edge studio a stone's throw from Kennington tube station in south London. Over the period of becoming friends, the studio has evolved from being an empty building and an idea through being a project in development, to now being open and buzzing with activities and people. It's quirky, youthful and full of potential. I have been as excited watching it develop as if it was my own project, and when I went for a visit on Monday, ostensibly to sign her copy of my book (we both forgot), I was delighted to see that her Mum really was there in the podcast room making hats. There she was with shelves of beautifully crafted headgear: I felt they alone were worth a visit. To me, that was the icing on the cake. There are rooms to meet, rooms to record, rooms to make podcasts and rooms to stream from, all clean, new and well equipped. You can even party there!
There are lots of great studios in London; we are recording our album at One Cat in Gypsy Hill and that is perfect for what we are doing. But it's incredibly tempting to record something at Mel's studio just to capture a bit of that excitement at newness that I felt when I walked in this week, and of course, get a bit of 'spirit of the hat' on the recording!
Look here to see what's there: https://mysoundbank.co.uk
Tonight in Coventry Cathedral there is a film screening of Stories from the She-Punks with free tickets. The Delia Derbyshire film is also beings screened and there is a panel with Pauline Black (Selector) and Rhoda Dakar (The Specials) talking about the 2-tone movement.
Ticket link here:
The news is utterly horrible: we are governed by greedy charlatans who have factored eugenics into their strategy for dealing with an ageing population. Behind me, I have a life that although it has many successes, I would not wish on anyone for some of the gruesome episodes that I have survived and do not talk about. Looks like I'm not going to get to Vienna or Innsbruck to play with Robert because of the import of the Delta (let's call it 'Johnson') variant of Covid (but good luck compadre, I'll be with you in spirit!).
Yesterday morning I awoke at 4.30 a.m. and naturally, tried to go back to sleep. At 5.30 I gave up, got up, and sat in the back yard enjoying the peace and silence with cup of tea. No barky dogs awake, no people awake, not even any cars roaring down the road. It was lovely: there was nothing in the air but expectation and it felt like an oasis in the chaos.
I 'slept in' this morning until 6.30 but did the same tea and garden thing, and by now at 9.30 I have finished the start of recording four guitar tracks for new songs. What I've noticed is that because of not playing some of the new songs live, I've got into bad habits of glossing over the difficult-to-pay sections. Some of them I've never played and I'm having to learn them as I go. So I played over and over, didn't get them right, but now I know where the weak points are.
What could be more blissful than sitting in the early-morning kitchen with the door open, the neighbourhood waking up, a cup of fresh coffee on the table, warm air draughting through and the sun shining outside: recording guitar tracks for a new album? The ground outside is already baking in the heat, but it's cool in here in the dark house that is sometimes so irritating in its gloom.
I recognise a moment of pure joy when I'm there, and that was it this morning. An hour of gentle and peaceful music-making, listening in for good and bad sounds as they came into the headphones in time, learning the muscle instructions, feeling the songs' meanings as I sang them in my head along to the backing track. What could possibly be better than this?
Well, I actually spent the afternoon recording mostly guitars (expecting thunder) but also some backing vocals. I was taking a break for lunch and I had an idea for a little guitar hook which has proved almost impossible to play without practising it, so I've had to leave that for now.
Here's a weird thing- it happened when I was recording with Robert last week too. You become obsessed with the detail of getting things right, and rather negative about how it's all sounding. Then you add just one little detail, and the whole track just takes off. It's never the same thing and you can't predict or calculate what's going to happen. I keep forgetting that this happens, and I spend an hour or so feeling dispirited. Why is everything sounding so bad? Then suddenly, the flavours start to work together and everything makes sense.
Oh yes, I know I have to get that little hook right, and a backing vocal could be made to work better, and I need to do the main vocal with a better microphone (not on a thundery day). But I have made a good start to a recording today. This is going to be a pensive album when it's finished.
There's no point in waiting- I have the songs, I have the voice, I have the guitar. I'm going to start tomorrow, partly because I want to learn the new ones properly for the gig in Rochester at the end of September.
Should I reschedule the other gigs I cancelled? Not yet- it's mayhem out there and there are going to be even more arguments than normal, all conducted by the head of the orchestra of misery, Mr Boris-Variant Johnson.
So while it's so hot I'll build up a song-bank in my sweltering kitchen, door closed against the headache-inducing drilling from the garden next to the dog-garden. It's all go, isn't it? And there's you thinking Barnet's boring!
Over the back fence there is a very beautifully turned-out light brown bulldog that potters about in the garden. I'm not sure whether it's a temporary visitor or a permanent resident but it doesn't bark, which is odd given the barkophonic orchestra in our neighbourhood.
However, in the middle of the sweltering night, an eloquent succession of squeals from a squeaky toy roused me from my slumbers. Every facet of expression emitted from the squeaker: appeals, cheers, pleas, whoops and whines.
How very sweet for such a butch-looking dog to use the sound of a plastic toy as a mouthpiece for its complex emotions and what a pity the toy didn't include a bark in its repertoire!