Thursday, May 31, 2018


Well what is the point of grumbling about working? I know how lucky it is to have stimulating and varied work; however, you occasionally get a week where everything happens at once and this week has been one of that sortuva week. Almost every part of the workscape has come to a head; marking student work, data inputting, the academic article on its fifth rewrite and still taking hours to make imperceptible progress. I've been up at dawn, writing in my pyjamas, hair awry, coffee getting cold, opening and closing files on my computer, forgetting to eat then eating too much...
We are still working on the documentary, which is demanding finer and finer tuning, as well.
Good things? A very positive response to Rendezvous D'Automne, especially by BBC6's Marc Riley, and two lovely gigs coming up this weekend: Glastonwick in Sussex, at the invitation of Attila the Stockbroker on Saturday afternoon, and The Mascara Bar on Sunday as part of The Stoke Newington Music Festival, at the invitation of Fran Isherwood.
In fact, I'm going to stop writing now and play my guitar instead. That's a Very Good Idea.

Monday, May 28, 2018

Out Now!

From here

Marking Time

I've kind of missed the Bank Holiday, as always, because of marking. Even putting the student numbers on the work (they were supposed to do it, but many didn't) takes what seem like centuries.
When the University moved from paper to paperless submissions, the registry threw away something like seven bin-bags of uncollected work which implied that the students only looked at their marks, and not at the painstaking feedback and feed-forward that had been given to them. You have to at least imagine that they look at this stuff or you'd go bonkers.
I have to stop now; the people in the next garden along are drunk and screeching with laughter. I do have ear protectors for when the local DIY gets out of hand, but it's hot and sticky and I've reached my limit for the day.

Saturday, May 26, 2018

Transglobal Underground at Stamford Bridge

Transglobal Underground don't play much in the UK so I couldn't miss this gig. I've seen Dubulah's other bands- most of them- from The Simonics (a band made up entirely of Simons and Nicks, who recorded at Elephant Studios in Wapping where the engineers were called Simon and Nick), through the Red River Mountain Boys (an old timey band with stick-on moustaches), Temple of Sound (with Maori singers and dancers), and Dub Colossus (one time in Edinburgh with African musicians, another in Hackney with Mykaell Riley on vocals, a horn section, Winston Blissett and Dubulah both on bass and I can't remember what else, and another at Passing Clouds so late that I had to go home before they played), and of course the occasional gig with me (Lucie's Lounge). I've got at least two Temple of Sound albums, and the band Flavel Bambi Septet, made up of Tim Whelan, Hamid Mantu and God only know who else, came up to the Edinburgh fringe to be the house band for Dr Calamari's Music Hall of the Macabre, way back in the 1980, with Lester Square as the MC.
Too many names?
A bit Old Testament, I confess; maybe you have to be 'in the know', but you didn't need to be to appreciate the music at this gig, which was pure positive dancing energy all the way through. It was great to hear Natacha Atlas sing live, and hear Hamid play again; the percussionist Goldfinger was particularly bouncy, describing the music as 'multiclectic' and at one point, exasperated by the lack of bounce of some members of the audience, shouting 'I'm older than you!! Come on!!'
There, in the background was Dubulah, swopping between bass and guitar, quietly watching one of many teams of musicians he has created music with over the years. We are all survivors of what life throws at us, and we must celebrate the lives we live now: that's the message of this band, multicultural, positive and energising.
The show finished quite early, but early nights are the new late nights, I hear. It was nice to see Dave Jago in the crowd, up from Southend. We have a Helen and the Horns gig in Brighton in August. Yet more names: we all seem to have worked with at least one of us, at one time or another.
Or something.


Back to piles of marking, internet glitches, portals f*cked, phone calls to IT people and (site down and multiple charges made to debit card for duplicate bookings); what a mess normal life is. Administrators have all been sacked to save money, and recorded voices offer options you don't want, IT professionals gaslight you with impunity, then have to actually apologise (horrors!) when the whole site collapses, and things that should have take half a day will now take the whole weekend.
I'm so glad I went away.
I am looking forward to hearing the recordings.
I met my friend Laura, whose whole family have been friends with my family for three generations and who I haven't seen since she was twelve and I was fourteen; we went to YWCA camp together and managed to survive the experience. We wandered around Boston and then went back to her lovely house in the New Hampshire countryside to talk, eat and catch up.
I went to visit Jane and her baby Emile and ate leek and potato soup in their apartment in Brooklyn, and I met up with Jenn Pelly, who has just completed the book on the Raincoats, for a coffee and a long chat.
Add to that the meandering (seven miles one day, eight miles another), the quirky museums (more to come on that after the marking mountain has been conquered), the park, the YMCA (a unique experience) and a seamless journey back after a struggle through the muggy rush hour Subway with a  suitcase that defied my 'poorly arm', and it has been bliss to be on a completely different planet for a few days.
No jetlag on the way back- how peculiar. Offsprog One reckons that maybe my body clock simply didn't adjust, which makes sense. And now also for the fifth attempt at re-writing the academic article that bounces back as regularly as a rubber ball. This time, though, I'm doing it for the sistaz and will publish myself if they don't do it!

Thursday, May 24, 2018

Recording With Tom Again

Tom and Lisa live out at Queens, and I probably chose the longest route there that it was possible to choose. I got the Subway to Flushing, which is a fascinating Korean suburb, and then caught a slow local bus from there to the area where they live.
There was a minor hiccup: Tom had arranged to borrow a Spanish guitar and a solid-body from a local music shop, but there was no-one to be seen when we went to pick them up. We hovered and hoped and peered through the shuttered window, but in the end Tom had to try to find someone else who would hire instruments to us- you'd think that would be easy in New York but it's not. After a lot of searching, we managed to find somewhere and we were just setting off, when the original guy phoned and said he'd opened up and was waiting there for us.
The first solid body had gravelly pots and sticky strings but the second one had a nice strong sound- Seymour Duncan pickups- and we went back and made a start. I'd decided to do electric and acoustic versions of each song, but the songs soon dictated what they wanted and two were recorded on the Spanish guitar and two on the electric. Tom has become so swift at editing and although he now works mainly as a mix engineer, he had put together a really great recording set-up for this session. We recorded the four songs on guitar, and  then because my voice was rough at the bottom end and I had no head-room (jet lag), we stopped for the day and chatted to his wife Lisa and their lovely little baby who was all smiles and who is a ball of fun and energy.
Next day was vocal day and it didn't take long to put the vocals on the songs.
I had realised the day before that coming to Queens to record with Tom again was a really good decision. Time has passed- almost ten years- and we have both got better at what we are doing, but it was as easy as anything to slot right back into working together again. If you have recorded two and a half albums with the same engineer (plus a Christmas EP with a scratch choir on it, which Lisa says they still play every year), at the end of that process you will either be great friends or great enemies, and thankfully we became the first of those.
I can't wait to hear how they sound.
Afterwards we went to a Japanese restaurant and ate ourselves silly.
It is extremely tempting to go back and do next year's album there too; let's see how the next lot of songs develop...
It felt as though no time had passed at all; I was so pleased to see him- and Lisa, who managed to survive the Harrow household where they all lived; and of course, to meet their baby. How often do we get to meet babies? Never! Everyone should have at least one baby in their life just to keep their feet on the ground; this trip, I met two: but more of that in another posting.
I have such fiendish headweirdnessfuckery because of the time zone thing that I can only manage one posting at a time. Can you imagine a night flight, a red-eye, then having to do marking? A whole day of it tomoz, then the fifth rewrite of an article that I'm trying to get published.
Oh, but New York: what a city.

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

The Vanguard Jazz Orchestra

I couldn't get a ticket for the early show at eight but took the risk of the ten thirty.
It was a mistake to stop off in Times Square on the way there because I got seriously hustled and it was frightening. The idea of picking my way to and from Greenwich Village on my own suddenly lost its appeal.
However, food cures all ills and cures all fears too, apparently; although it took a while to locate the venue (going off in the wrong direction from the Subway didn't help), once I was there I joined the smug queue of people with tickets and clambered down the narrow stairs into the teensy club (no more than 123 people allowed in there, appaz) where the audience is so close to the band that they are practically in it.
What a band! Lots of greyhairs, a couple of nerdy whippersnappers, and a slick, breathing big band sound. They play as one: they are like a swarm of bees, leaning in one direction thn the other, rising and falling as they breathe together, reaching over to place microphones for the person doing a solo, the sax players putting their fingers in their ears in unison as the trombones blast behind them in a particularly loud section.
Tight, very New York tunes emanate from the cosy stage area; they explain life through music, looking blissful as they listen in between playing. One sax player even uses newsreaders 'explaining hands' during his solo. They are sure we understand their enthusiasm, and we do.
Sorry no photos- forbidden I'm afraid, although I may well try to draw them from memory at some point. They were fascinating.

Sunday, May 20, 2018

New York

New York is foggy tonight, and has been rainy all day. It was a nightmare getting here because the flight was delayed by more than four hours, and part of that time involved the Norwegian Airlines staff trying to reorganise all the seating for the whole enormous planeload so that we could fly in a jumbo jet run by a Spanish airline.
The good bit was that I got to sit in the lump on top, which was something I never in a million years imagined that I'd ever do. It was impossible to sleep though, partly because of turbulence- not enough to make you afraid but enough to wake you up if you nodded off, and partly because the huge seats had all sorts of mechanical gadgetry; you could slide them into a flat position bit by bit, lifting up the footrest and lowering the headrest, you had folding down little reading lights and a folding table in the arm rest, and so much legroom. But all night long the whirring of the mechanisms gently whined as people adjusted their positions; it was a unnerving as it was exciting.
Then at JFK (cheers, Norwegian), I ended up being the only person from the whole flight waiting for transport into town- at 11.30 at night. That was frightening, but the shuttle bus eventually turned up and lots of other late passengers crammed at another terminal.
So I got to the YMCA at 1.30 a.m. and checked into this Spartan room, which has a fabulous view across Central Park.
I can't upload photographs at the moment because this is an iPad and mostly doesn't work. It's horrible to type on too because your fingers feel like spider legs tippy tappying on it.
The recording part of the trip has been perfect. It was fantastic to work with Tom again, and meeting his little baby was amazing. We got four tracks down, and he's going to mix them.
Tomorrow, I have a long trip to visit Laura, who I haven't seen since she was twelve and I was fourteen. On the way, I'm going to get some work done: I printed out a very basic version of my book to read.
So this is a working visit, but at the same time I've walked the (Hi) Line, been to Williamsburg, visited the amazing Folk Museum and just generally wandered around using both my feet and the Metro Card.
Time for a shower- a competitive business because we share bathrooms at the YMCA, and there aren't enough to go around. I mistakenly allowed a soaking wet cyclist to go before me, this morning, which meant that I missed out on things. Wish me luck!

Wednesday, May 16, 2018


Dear Gran

I am sorry not to be visiting your birthplace this time around, but I will come back another time.
I remember hanging out with you and your friends; you were so worried about what I would write about them in your diary that you tried to bribe me with a dollar, to show you what I'd written that day. But I hadn't written anything; I found them fascinating, just as you were.
You had so many adventures and there were so many layers to your personality. I understand how you always saw the good in everything and everybody and how important it was to you to do that, in order to keep the darkness away. You saw cruelty, and you experienced it too. But you were a fabulous grandmother and you never lost your ability to play or to understand the child in people, no matter how sophisticated they were. You also rather liked baddies because they were exciting, although you didn't want them around us, your grandchildren.
Whenever life kicks me in the teeth, I think about you and your survival strategy of always to be positive and always to be interested in other people and their stories.

Sending you love from Planet Earth,

Your granddaughter Helen xxx

Monday, May 14, 2018


Just bought a little compass- a metal adventure's compass- from the bookshop, so I can navigate around New York without getting my phone out, because it's a north/south/east/west city.
It says on the box that it's a metal adventurer's compass, so that must mean that I'm a metal adventurer.

Sunday, May 13, 2018

The Punks Wait For Their Guitars To Arrive

Alpacas from yesterday; more to come, after (another) graft day. Tina, their boss, is out of the picture. She has magnificent fluttery eyelashes, dark brown fur, and can spot a camera at a hundred yards.
These are therapeutic alpacas who belong to the organisation Animal Antiks, and they visit troubled children and autistic children who need something more than complicated human company to make them feel safe and comfortable.
Not only can these clever chaps play guitar, but they also spit at each other when they are annoyed like proper punk rockers. Llamas spit at humans more often, apparently, because they have nastier temperaments than alpacas; alpacas only have teeth on their lower jaw and have hard gums on the upper one.
You learn a lot at Literary Festivals.

Saturday, May 12, 2018

Guitars Located!

I can't believe that next weekend I will be in New York recording with Tom Greenwood again. Tom recorded both Suburban Pastoral and Poetry and Rhyme, plus some of the tracks on Hamilton Square.
Norwegian Airlines don't carry fragile baggage and I've been worried about taking a guitar but Tom has found a friendly music shop to hire some at minimal rates.
This is so exciting!
The beginning of this year was terribly dark: a fog of painkillers, and the shock of realising how things can suddenly happen that make a huge impact on everything in your life.
Trying to edit an academic article with a curdled brain and an ability to type with only one finger.
Months of sleeplessness because of the relentless pain (never break an elbow- that funny bone feeling is with you constantly, 24/7 and painkillers wear off after a couple of hours).
Taking days to be able to bear to wear a guitar and stand up to play (they are heavy buggers).
An unbearable feeling, the feeling of being sorry for myself.
Sitting with my hand in the air for hours at a time to stop the swelling and bruising from becoming really frightening and dramatic.
Drawing a very painful, powerful drawing that summed up the feelings of being dumped two years ago which made a friend cry when they saw it.

What a wonderful NHS we have; they were proud of the work they did in fixing it up.
The surgeon smiled with delight at the mobility of the mended arm and relayed a message from the operating surgeon to ask if I'd managed to do my gigs (I only cancelled one, in the end).

Travelling light and light-hearted! What better thing is there in life?

The Bardaid Literary Festival

The Bardaid people continue their good work creating libraries in phone boxes and schools with this event today in Hertfordshire. I will be there as part of a panel in the afternoon at about 2 p.m. and will be selling copies of the Lost Women of Rock Music later on.

Friday, May 11, 2018


Up at eight for the builders, I started writing.
By eleven thirty, I was a spent force and they were finished.
The rest of the day has been occupied in answering University correspondence, shoving unfeasibly heavy furniture back into place, washing the floors, taking things upstairs, taking things downstairs, laundering dusty things and generally exhausting every muscle in my body.
Trying a siesta was fruitless; the goldfinch was trilling at maximum volume.
I looked for my black lyrics book.
It wasn't in the Usual Places.
I remembered leaving a book full of lyrics on the tube once and never getting it back.
Had I thrown the black lyrics book away in a fit of cleanliness when I was clearing the house so the builders could smash the damp plaster off the walls?
Had it been recycled this morning when the bin men came?
Are the dustmen singing their way through my songs right this minute in their deep dusty voices, accompanied by a battered guitar that a disinterested child has thrown away?
No! Here it is, midway through an unlikely pile!

Relieved, I sing every single song as a prayer of gratitude.

Thursday, May 10, 2018

'Summer Days' Mixed By Stuart Moxham


I've sent out more than 60 pieces of student work today. They have worked hard and done well and I feel proud of their achievements. Big thanks to David and Bridgette for helping out with the teaching and marking while I've been on sabbatical.
The book writing feels like a mountain to climb. All the information is there, but it's not in the right order yet. I have done so much research but the publisher wants integrated interviews, which has meant going back to the drawing-board. I'm not the world's most patient person: I just want people to be able to read it right now. Academic books don't work like that though, and I can't say I should have been a journalist, because I shouldn't have been. Being a writer happened as a different sort of accident and wasn't intentional.
After this, its strictly songs (and crime novels).

Wednesday, May 09, 2018


In a deep hole excavated in the piled up furniture, the microphone met the interface and the interface met the computer.
We were doing BVs and a unison vocal for a Stuart Moxham song called The Hill, which is exceptionally catchy.
It was one of those subtraction jobs. A few weeks ago I slathered the poor song with vocals; most of this session was spent taking them away.
On Sunday I will climb over some furniture and retrieve the guitar to put a bit of jangle on to the song.
Tomozza and the next day, they are Writing Days with Robert Dyas Orange Ear Protectors, as the builders smash the damp plaster off the walls downstairs.


The damp in my house has finally got to the point where it needs to be sorted out; cue much moving of hefty furniture, piles of paper that can't be thrown away yet because they belong to the book project, clothes, guitars and general stuff (actually, General Stuff commands a Dustball Army).
There were lots of photographs buried in the heaps, including this one that Jacob took for Myspace back in the day. I quite miss Myspace; it had an innocence about it. When it started, somebody told me about it and said you could make lots of friends.
'What's the point of that?', I thought, 'I have got friends anyway'.

Tuesday, May 08, 2018

The Washing Machine

The old washing machine became increasingly independent, rather like an adolescent.
You had to press buttons again and again, and it would decide on a whim whether it would do the things the button were telling it to do.
The washing machine repair man is very nice and very patient, but when he moved his toolbox in I decided I'd had enough.
Now, the new washing machine (very cheap and with rather a large scary eye) works like a dream. It is quiet, reliable, efficient and when it has finished it plays a jolly little tootly tune.
As soon as it's legal, I'm going to marry the new washing machine, for all the above reasons.

Monday, May 07, 2018

Lewes, Last Night

Big thanks to Foz for last night's gig supporting Rory McLeod.
Rory is a true troubadour, spending most fo his life travelling; his music shows the influences of all of the different countries that he has travelled to, picking up flavours that add to his skills in playing the spoons (makes me want to pick up the knuckle bones again from the Dom Flemons workshop), tapping and most importantly playing guitar and singing.
These guys, they play the guitar as though it is part of their bodies. The audience was enraptured and he played for two and three quarter hours, as he sang and joked his way through a balmy summer evening. Iraq-na-phobia? Almost as bad as one of mine!
Lovely to see family members, Kim and a lone Asbo Derek sporting a very fine Sleaford Mods t-shirt.

Lewes, This Morning

At 9.15 a.m. the café was full of clog dancing ladies dressed in puritan garb- long pastel-coloured linen dresses, long white aprons and white linen bonnets, drinking cappuccinos before their event.
At the station, a young squirrel was trying to pluck up courage to cross from one platform to the other across the rails.
Up to the edge, paws down over the edge.... nope.
A bit further up the platform, it tried again:
Up to the edge, paws down over the edge... nope.
It tried a few times and finally made it down.
Arriving at the rails, it ran up and down before it regained its sense of direction, and tried to cross.
The poor little thing had touched the live rail and it shot into the air by at least half a metre, flipping and landing back in between the rails again.
It nursed its sore paw for a couple of minutes and was obviously having a think; when its paw had recovered, it scurried back up to the platform it had left from and headed off in another direction entirely.

Sunday, May 06, 2018

Saturday, May 05, 2018

Curious Robin

I'm standing at the window in the kitchen with an electric guitar slung over my shoulder, getting used to the weight before the gig tomorrow; I sing, and play with no amplifier (very quietly: pring, pring, pring).
There is a fluttery commotion at the back of the yard, where the peanuts slowly rot in a metal bird-feeder.
Suddenly, two robins appear on the dark concrete ground in front of the back door.
One springs up to the gutter just next to the window and peers in, curiously. It's beak is full, and eyeing the window to work out what is going on, it cocks its head from side to side.
The other bounces about measuring distances, and checking in on its pal from time to time.
The robin in the gutter starts to sing along out of the side of its beak, a worm hanging down incongruously.
Its shiny little eye is fixed on the strange coloured shadow on the other side of the glass that holds a long wooden device with six glittering strings emanating an odd pinging sound, with a calling human face above it.
I dare not stop playing until the robin has vanished back into next door's garden.

Friday, May 04, 2018

An Afternoon

What a lovely slow day.
Newly driving again, I drove slowly to St Albans and slowly got lost.
Normally when this happens I almost cry, but I didn't. I slowly fished the Satnav out from under the car seat, programmed in Ruth and Dave's address, drove to their house and slowly manoeuvred the car backwards and forwards on their hard drive (is that what it's called, the concrete bit outside the front of a house?) while an elderly man paused and slowly turned to watch.
I have missed going up there; the reggae, the coffee, the cat, and of course, Ruth and Dave.
While the coffee was brewing, I sang the verses of Rendezvous D'Automne with a more chilled approach (Cameron, moi?), had a relaxing chat, payed the electronic drum kit for ten minutes or so, drank some more coffee, sang a bit more, then sat on their back hard shoulder (patio?) admiring their stripy cat and eating a very nice lunch.
Vic and Mandy arrived on their way to Newmarket; Vic listened and I sang a line again. This is for an album that he will be releasing soon, and they played me another track, a mad electronica cover of an Asbo Derek song which is very rude (surprise surprise!) and very danceable.

The cat went down the garden and turned her back on us all.

Caroline Coon's Exhibition, Liverpool

Caroline has a solo exhibition at The Gallery, Liverpool that is well worth going to see if you can.
She has a distinctive style with something of the 1930s about it, although her subject matter is very much 21st Century.
Many of her paintings are erotic, twining the sexuality of flowers and plants together with the human body. Others are reflective of where she lives in Notting Hill- the real Notting Hill, not the film version once praised for its 'special effects' by Brinsley Forde of Aswad ("no black people at all"). As a painter, her attention to detail is incredible, and this close observation is what makes her commentary so powerful- and sometimes damning.
Caroline's independent voice is much to be appreciated in the current chaotic times, and so is her ability to place her intellect in equal placing with her appearance, which is a revolutionary act in itself.


Thursday, May 03, 2018

Oh And

Wash the kitchen floor.

Plans For the Day

Im off out to vote in a minute; living in Barnet, we have a very close call between the Tories and Labour, and it makes it seem particularly essential to vote.
The frantic eBAying is going to continue; it feels like an extra job, but although some things I expected to make a lot (a Cath Kidston tea dress sold for less than £20 which is really unusual), and some people don't seem to think they need to bother to pay for their stuff, I am more than mid way to paying for the accommodation in New York. Plus there is more space in the house, which can only be a good thing, because the builders are coming in next week to fix the damp around the doors and that's going to be a lot of mess, dust and upheaval.
Most of today is going to be spent marking; despite having a sabbatical, that only applies to one job and it's only a part sabbatical. It will have to be done in burst of concentration and focus, and rather meanly, I'm hoping for rain!
The documentary editing is going really well; it's bloody hard work, but the film is looking good. Mega, mega thanks to the wonderful women who have shared their stories with us over the last three years. What personalities, and what great experiences! As we look through the footage replacing bits and pieces, we can see what a pity it is to have to leave so much on the cutting room floor as sacrifices to the narrative; this is very similar to writing books and takes a lot of steely decision making.
About the book writing? Nothing has happened on that front this week. It has been good to have a few days away from it, and gather energy for the biggest task of all, which will be integrating the chapters with the interviews within the big academic section of the book.
I don't know what I am going to do with the sense of relief when these projects are finished; the book, since 2010 (eight bloody years!) and the documentary since 2015. Big journey to the centre of the Earth? Spiritual epiphany? Leave the country?
Later, I'll be doing bit of singing too; tomorrow we are re-recording Francoise Hardy's song Rendezvous D'Automne with Vic Godard, Saturday I'll be finishing the guitar and vocal overdubs on a song for Stuart Moxham and starting a singing session on another song for a chap in Sheffield, and Sunday it's this:

Wednesday, May 02, 2018