Playing Bass

Bloody bingo! Trying to write it in my head worked- I have the bassline written but not the skill to play it yet. Which means practicing. Urgh. I'm trying to channel Andy Warren, while sitting down instead of standing up, and not having my ankles crossed like he does. To be honest, I don't practice bass at all so I shouldn't begrudge putting a couple of hours in to get it right.

I had a tiny moment of triumph this morning trying out a new plugin which made an awkward recording work. It only takes a small thing to boost your confidence to do the Next Big Thing.

Funny how inspiring the big butch lad walking through Newcastle upon Tyne in his t-shirt in the cold, with a cute little cockatiel in a cage was!

Skiving

I'm not sure if I'm skiving or just taking a bit of time out!

Yesterday, I was a victim of funky lateness twice in one go: things that are supposed to begin at a certain time and don't seem to be part of social life. I didn't mind though. Every time I walk somewhere it's an opportunity to think through stuff to do with the album; the reflection is part of the process.

The bass guitar is looming in the kitchen, waiting to be played. Are my fingers ready? I do hope so!

Thoughts On Recording

Playing the songs 'out' on Saturday has taught me a lot. I'm going to swap to playing the Telecaster for some songs- which means quite a lot of re-recording. The Green Goddess sounds just too pretty for a couple of the more energised songs. I also know it was a wise decision to wait until the weather cools down a bit to do the lead vocals. I've finally got used to the change in my lung capacity and there's a different voice in there that is louder and more expressive. I suppose the cancer was working like a cork in the top part of my lungs and my instinct is to explode with loudness, but one does have to sing in tune doncha know!

It's going to be very hot again, and I got up early to edit Tracy's vocals that we recorded last week. I am going to sing to her vocal after her singing to mine, so to speak. What a great thing to be properly in touch with her again. There were some parts of punk that were so awful that a lot of it has been suppressed. Revisiting it now has been very uncomfortable, but it was hugely cathartic singing on the Almost Acoustic Stage at Rebellion on Saturday- there are so many things that I've never told anyone before. There is something about storytelling in song that makes it neater and easier to speak the truth. I feel a lot taller and stronger after that. Bones of steel mate, bones of steel.

I've just remembered what the most cruel person in Brighton said, the person that I'm not going to sing about. He accused me of being 'meek'. I am not that at all. I am extremely strong.

In some ways, all those years of writing musicals for youth groups and theatre groups has unfolded into this album, and all the strategies that I've used to help people to express their thoughts in songwriting at the workshops that I've run have played out in my own creative life. I have such a clear vision for this album!

Man Walks Past Ronnie Rude In Blackpool

 

From the High Tide Festival Twickenham, A Few Weeks Ago

 

Blackpool Street Trader Sells Fluffy Little Things On Sticks

 

Rebellion 2026, Sunday

There was no way I was going to miss Violet Violet, who were first on at the Loud Women Stage. Fliss Kitson, the dance-behind-the-kit drummer from The Nightingales, had a teenage band with Cherie Percy and I'd watched their videos on Youtube. Here they were harking back to their young selves, but in the freshest and most powerful way you could possibly imagine. I loved them: they are such excellent musicians. The bass player was going through an Ampeg stack, the guitar amp was a Marshall, the drums were Fliss (nuff said) and the sound was loud and strong. I loved it that they were playing songs they'd written when they were eighteen, about friendship and horrible boyfriends and all that sort of stuff. There was this great almost motorik drive behind the songs, probably largely due to Fliss's power drumming. I also really enjoyed the vocal interplay- and it reminded me just how powerful unison singing is. It was the late Mat Fox of The Happy End who pointed out to me that unison anything (let alone vocals) is enormously forceful. 

Bang! It was a great start to the day!

Then I rushed up to the Literary Stage for the rest of Mollie Tye's talk on her book, Rebel Grrrls. I am going to buy the book but couldn't on this occasion because my luggage was already giving me the weight of an elephant on two stalk legs. But it was very interesting to hear her talk about it: about Straightedge and aspects of punk that were outside my experience. Afterwards, two very nice people who had been at my thing at the Almost Acoustic stage caught up with me to buy my book and a CD- and bought Mollie's book too. They run a label in the West Country, and I had a great chat with them about music and other stuff. They offered to release my next record, which they'd heard live the day before. I don't think I could have had a better compliment for the brand new songs.

I hung out for a bit backstage and chatted to Jo Catlow-Morris, who is absolutely wonderful. Between them she and Paul Raggity make the whole Literary Stage run really smoothly. We all missed Dominic Warwick, the heartbeat of the stage, this year, but he should be up and running again next festival.

(it's really irritating because Google keeps 'correcting' my spelling and getting everything wrong, and I sometimes don't see it until I've published it. If you're a person that it's 'helped' me to spell your name wrong, please forgive me!)

So on to Shanne Bradley, who in true rock'n'roll spirit had been up till dawn the night before. But she did a good interview, mainly because not only is she funny, but she has some brilliant memories of the sheer oddness of those early punk times when nobody knew it was going to be what it eventually became. That's the peculiar thing, isn't it? Here's this massive festival dedicated to the music and the mindset of a massive cultural phenomenon, but nobody sat down with a business plan and worked it all out beforehand. Maybe Malcolm McLaren said he had, but I've always had the impression that he was completely chaotic and was rather good at claiming credit for things after they had happened!

Afterwards I chatted to Toby Woby and Kassy, who are in a The Sweet covers band in memory of Brian Connolly. That's one of the best things about Rebellion- the chatting with people around the edges of everything else. Someone complimented on my guitar playing yesterday so my head has swollen to the size of a pumpkin; they heard the blues guitarists that I listened to in my style. That was just a passing chat but it was great to hear. 

In true Rebellion style, the train back to London from Preston was cancelled. I won't go into it. You know what I'm going to say before I've even said it. But I got home, and ate an almost half a French stick with cheese. Most of the Rebellion food is curry, either cauliflower or sweet potato. It's lovely the first time, but after three goes the shine wears off it all. You eat it, and no matter how ravenous you are (very), your body says 'no'. I also drank a bucket of tea. Although there's no place like home, I am so glad that I get to go to Rebellion: it's a cluster of mad sanity, a bubble of a world that somehow by default manages to enhance your sense of wellbeing for a whole year. Long may she rule!

Rebellion 2026, Saturday

Not only is Blackpool an extraordinary place, but Rebellion is an extraordinary festival. It was quite anxiety-inducing to read in advance of the number of hotels that had deliberately double-booked (the air show was on at the same time), and who were turning away prospective guests. I think there are going to be rather a lot of lawsuits before next year: I'n not sure whether the proprietors realise that (a) this is illegal and (b) the punk community can be remarkably tenacious when it comes to asserting their rights.

Luckily the B&B I was booked into still had the room I'd reserved, probably because it was about a mile and half from the Winter Gardens, which was rather a long walk with my guitar, merch bag and overnight bag (why didn't I just get the tram? where was my brain?). It's always part of the ritual to compare awful hotel details, but at least the room was clean. 

Kettle? No. 

Working TV remote? No. 

Waste-paper bin? No. 

Wi fi? No.

Working shower? Needed two hands to absolutely wrench the dial to the 'on' position, at which point a mere dribble of scorching hot water reluctantly dripped from the shower head.

I was scheduled to do two interviews over the weekend at the Literary Stage. The first interview was with Pete Bentham of Pete Bentham and the Dinner Ladies. We met beforehand to go through the list of questions I'd prepared, mainly to see if there was anything he didn't want to talk about. He had pulled a good crowd for the lunchtime slot and despite him being nervous, the interview gradually became more relaxed. I think the best bit was when he described playing Kumbaya in church after his mum bought him a nylon-string guitar. There was a sudden rush of recognition from the audience. In fact that whole little section on religion and ethics and punk was quite a gem, but I don't think anyone recorded it, unfortunately. We noted that there was something very Deep South about the way religion and music intertwined in Liverpool. There should be more interviews online with Pete, but there's not much there. Journalists take note and do your stuff!

I went back on the tram to pick up my guitar, and on the return journey had a nice chat with an elderly chap who had been a guitarist in the sixties. We talked nerdy guitar talk all the way to town. London folk could learn a lot about good manners and community spirit from Blackpudlians; instead of fighting and pushing on the tram, people look out for those with disabilities or elders and give up their seats. Not only that, they chat with each other afterwards. Resorts like Blackpool are where people with limited means and enormous numbers of children come to have an affordable holiday. Some people in more affluent parts of the country mock people like this, but those people don't possess either the survival skills or the good manners of many of the British working class. Time and time again, I heard parents explaining to their children that they had to behave properly; I thought of some of the bratty London children whose parents just let them do whatever they want in blithe disregard of the way their behaviour affects other around them. It's a reminder every year that for some families life is incredibly tough, and that even putting food on the table is almost impossible.

That's enough philosophy for the day. 

I went to the Marco Pirroni talk on the Literary Stage to start off with. He has just finished his autobiography and he said that his co-writer hadn't wanted him to expound on any of the technical stuff about his playing. Surely this should be at the heart of it. Readers need roughage! I have read so many rock and roll autobiographies, and gigs/booze/groupies/drugs/breakdowns become very predictable after a while. It's the things around the edges- the first shows, the things that go wrong, the focus on details of writing and playing- that make a distinctive performer and an interesting book to read. I said a quick hello to him afterwards before buzzing orf to the acoustic stage. I was pleased that he remembered me from the panel at the Louder than Words festival last November where we all had a very intense conversation about punk, the meaning of (postings passim).

On to the Almost Acoustic stage on Saturday afternoon. Charlie Harper was playing late afternoon and I went to sit with Yuko as she ran through the songs beforehand. She has learned his set backwards, forwards and sideways, and I sat with Gaye and Eric watching from the sidelines as he gave his crowd exactly what they wanted, and needed. They absolutely adore him, singing along. He kind of embeds himself into the crowd, performing with them as well as to them: they become as one. It's quite unusual to see an artist's ego melting away in this manner. He has been very unwell, but as soon as he sits with his people, you can see the happiness radiating from him. It's utterly charming.

I wasn't even nervous about my bit, playing all new songs telling the Darkside Truth about 1977 in Brighton. I didn't have a big crowd, but what was lacking in quantity was more than made up for in quality- and listening (a surprising number of people came up and talked to me about it afterwards). Pauline Murray, Rob and their daughter Grace were there, as were Gaye and Eric and also Violet Violet- Fliss, Cherie and their bass player. Rob Chester came too- where else does a member of the House of Commons police show up to see you play? I had to have the lyrics in front of me, and though I'd hoped to stand up (stand and deliver), an impending migraine put paid to that. But it was weird. I felt my bones turning to steel during the set. I know someone had to leave because of the content of one of my songs, but it felt so good to finally sing the truth. Bravo Gisele Pelicot for making it OK to speak up! The sound engineer completely understood what was going on, and in an odd sort of way I bonded with him over that. If the sound engineer understands your material, you've done a good gig.

Reflecting on it afterwards, I realised that I need to drop one of the songs that I've recorded (though I didn't play it on Saturday) because even I find it hard to listen to. I do need to make sure that there is a proper balance of emotionally difficult songs and more positive ones- and also that the former will have an impact in a sort of 2:1 ratio. I am going to have to find a label to release it too, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. I have mixing to do.

I'll write more later when I've had a cup of coffee.

Bandcamp Friday

Suburban stories, fractured friendships, puncturing power: Showtunes from the Shadows is here for you on #BandcampFriday!

https://helenmcc.bandcamp.com/album/showtunes-from-the-shadows

Changing Gear

On Tuesday, Gina and Lindy and me went for our annual lunch together, going to a oc park afterwards where we watched a very friendly fox pottering around. It was so relaxed that it was perfectly happy for children to film it on their phones. There were tiny blue butterflies landing on the flowers around us, and a dusting of drizzle swept past us to complete the magical experience.

I had to cancel everything last week because of illness, but thankfully everything slotted in an exact week later. Yesterday, I went to Hove with a bag full of recording equipment to record Tracy Preston who used to sing in the Smartees, the rambling band of songwriters that bridged Joby and the Hooligans and The Chefs/The Accents. It was a really nice afternoon: she hasn't been used to singing, but what she did sounded just right. I met her son and her Mum who lives upstairs, and who I remember from way back then as being a gentle and loving person. She is still the same, all these years later. Precious cargo, those recordings!

Today I went to Westcombe Park to pick up Gran's banjo from Maggie. We sat and talked about art and ideas and kindness. The banjo case is so ancient that it's turning to powder, and I came home with a dusting of rust-coloured leather powder on my shirt. It needs new strings but the music shop was closed ('back soon'- what does soon mean?). Next week will do.

I've printed out all the stuff for Rebellion- train tickets, hotel details, lyrics for the new songs, which I'll have to prop on a music stand. I'm still fine-tuning them, but I think it will be OK. I'm travelling really light tomorrow. I bought a swanky new travel bag in a well-known discount store on Tuesday but had misgivings about it looking so posh, and was telling Gina and Lindy about when my brother and his wife got their luggage nicked on a train to Scotland. Sure enough, when I got home a friend posted on Facebook about their luggage being ransacked on the way to Blackpool. So the swanky new travel bag will be staying at home and I'll be travelling without it. Poor bag. Serves it right for being swanky! I've crammed basically a change of clothes into a small bag and anyone who wants to nick 'em will have a fight on their hands.

What else?

Zoe Howe's book on The Slits has been revised and reprinted, and she asked me to write a foreword for it. It's been published today. I re-read it and enjoyed it even more the second time around. I thoroughly recommend it!

Woman With Nasty Little Dog In Pushchair

 

Dessicated Slug

I really don't like snails and slugs at all, but yesterday I felt so sorry for a dried up slug that was lying on the paving stones that I watered it with a bit of water. I thought it might have died because even its skirt had warped, and it had curved inwards upon itself. This morning, though, it had gone. I hope it managed to survive.

I've been watering the garden with bath water. A while ago I got a couple of old galvanised iron watering cans, and I fill them up with a bucket and let it cool down. Not food plants like herbs and my poor raspberry plants though.

Dog's Pawprint In the Sand

 

From Last Sunday At The High Tide Festival In Twickenham

 

Left to right: Lester Square, me, Karina Townsend and Ruth Tidmarsh. I haven't had time to write it up because I was ill last week, but it was a fantastic afternoon at the Eel Pie pub. There is some footage of it which I'll upload soon.

Almost Acoustic at Rebellion Punk Festival

Almost Acoustic at Rebellion Punk festival in Blackpool next Saturday- onstage at 6.30 p.m. when I'll be playing a set of brand new songs about the Brighton punk scene in 1977

I'll also be interviewing Pete Bentham of The Dinner Ladies on Saturday lunchtime, and Shanne Bradley of The Nips on Sunday lunchtime.