Here's a video of our song 'I Fly My Balloon' hot off the press for the New Year. Thanks to Damian Cosmas for making the video!
Thursday, December 31, 2020
Pity Me, The Cat Got Me
Our beautiful Siamese cats had unfortunate hunting habits, no matter that they were fed and loved. it's just their way.
I used to bury the carcasses, and occasionally dig them up to see...
I've been doing this embroidery since 2001 and never felt that I had the time to finish it. The skull, I sewed freehand so it is entirely anatomically incorrect, but it is done from life (or perhaps death).
The cats, of course, are also no more. One by one, they became ill. I always felt that they were such shock-absorbers within our family that eventually they wore out. They were so loved, and every so often we talk about them still and the silly things that they did: like one of them coming through the cat flap with a huge clattering because they had caught a mouse: a dead one, complete with the mousetrap that had done the first and lethal catching.
And now, I've got to finish my book. Amazing how far one will go in order to avoid a difficult task!
Wednesday, December 30, 2020
A pair of robins, feathers fluffed up against the cold, peered into the bathroom window as I was brushing my teeth at the sink this morning. Birds must find humans an endless source of entertainment!
Tuesday, December 29, 2020
Well, I was going to mend the vacuum cleaner, post a present to my friend Laura and do a bit of housework. I tried to go to the Post Office three times but the queues were horrendous- about 15 people every time, and I gave up and decided to go tomorrow instead.
Fixing the vacuum cleaner simply didn't appeal, and instead I wrote to Steve Beresford to ask if he might be willing to put some electronics on one of my new songs. He phoned immediately and we had a great catch up. As always, he was full of information about different things people do with music and sound, and said 'yes', too. I do so miss sharing an office with him!
So I fired up the computer and started recording. I need a new sound and it was great fun playing around, although I realised that I'd recorded the whole thing 10 BPMs too slow. I went to the pond after checking out the Post Office again (still queues), and scared the seagulls away from their Seagull Takeover. There were men fishing at the other pond, illegally, but they were too stupid to bother with.
Back again, I started the track again at 140 BPM. I don't think the sound is really quite as good as the first version, but it's just a demo and I've just bounced it for Steve. I do so love recording, and home is just as much fun as anywhere else.
Meanwhile in real life, the useless Government is becoming yet more useless. I have decided that Eton is filled with Martians who have infiltrated British politics from as far back as anyone can remember, and the current Government is the epitome of this phenomenon. Stay home, stay safe, and eventually they will self-destruct and humans will have to pick up the pieces.
Cruelty to Christmas Decorations
The dog with the missing ear was all due to have a reprieve. I opened the basket to put it in, and its leg fell off. Suddenly I was struck cruel, and I threw it away.
Monday, December 28, 2020
Frost, Fog, Mud
Bathers, so cold that their flesh shone orange through the mist, held back from dipping into the pewter-coloured pond water.
We sat on a bench and ate raspberry cake with cream. The birthday candles wouldn't light and the smell of hand sanitiser was in the air, but it was a memorable birthday, that's for sure.
After the cold won, they turned south and I turned north. I am so glad to be their Mum.
It was a seven mile day, and cold seven miles to (muddy) boot!
Sunday, December 27, 2020
Not Doing The Housework
'What are you going to do tomorrow?', asked Offsprog Two.
'Housework', I truthfully lied because I thought I was, but I didn't. I went for a mud wrestle (that's what they call walking now around these parts, or at least they do now). Tiny winter birds were out in force, tweetling away with gusto, call and response, conversation, territory-patrolling, whatever it is they do with those little piping voice boxes of theirs. It wasn't such a long walk as yesterday's, although it felt longer because of the amount of time it took to move one foot out of one flooded mud rut and place it in another. The exercise prompted a flood of fatigue, which was only countered by watching a couple of hours of Brexit telly, fortified by chocolate and nougat. I suppose I put out the rubbish, which probably counts as housework.
The insurmountable problem is that the vacuum cleaner is blocked and all I can think about is forcing Richard Dyson to come and use one of his bloody vacuum cleaners himself to show him how useless they are. They should re-knight him 'Sir Fluff', the man who invented a jolly plastic machine that picks up grey tumbleweed from one part of the house and deposits it in another. We could ask the man who accidentally invented post-it notes (he invented a glue that wouldn't dry) for suggestions about what to do with Dyson's potential landfill devices. Some sort of wildflower seed distributor, perhaps?
No, no, don't think about it. Be positive! It's post-Boxing Day, pre-birthday. I think its going to snow tomorrow so I'll make a snow birthday cake and melt it with candles. Ha ha! The best present this year (apart from Christmas Day, which was lovely) has been sleep. I have stopped worrying about the students and how they are managing (or not), and started counting sheep. There are millions of them, and they all smile, or maybe that's just their natural expressions.
I have got a song particle ready to send to Robert on New Year's day. At midnight on NYE we will be 'dropping' a new video. Before then, I'll record the first couple of demos for a 2021 solo album. I might even finish the embroidery I started 19 years ago (!). And during all this, I'll be rampaging through a box of Rose and Violent Creams that the Offsprog gave me for Christmas.
Same problem as pink and white marshmallows.
Do they taste different from each other?
Let me try just one more to see.
Saturday, December 26, 2020
Boxing Day Walk
More dogs on the planet means more dog poo on the planet, and every new dog on the planet was out this morning, doing what dogs do naturally and best. Gagging in the distance, I began to regret my enthusiasm for an early walk. Offsprog Two says it's the Christmas Feasting, but the fumes were astonishingly persistent and I hope all the dinner scraps have been eaten now. I don't think I could stomach another walk like that.
Friday, December 25, 2020
Thursday, December 24, 2020
The Hot Water Bottle Comes In Useful
Ah, normally at this time of year I'm in Barnet Church, singing carols with everyone else's strange family while the Offsprogs hang out at my house watching crap TV. This year it's me watching crap TV along with the rest of the population as we wait for the Coronavirus to go away wondering if we will survive if we succumb to it. And no Offsprogs. Not a terribly cheery thought really, and unsurprisingly I've eaten most of a blackberry cake (made with foraged blackberries), to compensate for the misery.
TV programmers think we all love Victoria Wood, Father Ted, Coronation Street, Eastenders and lots and lots and LOTS of quiz shows. I don't like any of those shows, so I'm channel-hopping and wishing I'd bought some crisps, but I forgot.
Tomorrow is going to be an outdoor lunch with hot water bottles stuffed up our coats, socially distanced at a garden table with individual portions in recycled Indian Takeaway containers. It's going to be very, very cold and a flask of coffee is going to be in order. The urban foxes will watch from their eyrie on top of the dilapidated shed, and wonder what the strange humans are doing. I have Christmas Crackers packed so it all goes off with a bang!
Wednesday, December 23, 2020
Interview in Penny Black Music
Thanks to Ben Howarth for this- part two to come in January.
We also have a video for I Fly My Balloon: watch this airspace!
Tuesday, December 22, 2020
Sunday, December 20, 2020
The Young Santa
In an alternative universe, Santa went rogue. Instead of giving gifts to children, he gave gifts of children to 'receiving women'.
He still had the white fluffy hair, the portly girth, and the booming voice, though.
He hadn't grown a beard yet.
Instead of being jolly and nice, he was jolly and horrible.
Part of this morning was spent filming a missing few seconds sequence for a video of I Fly My Balloon. It's the first time there has been a clear sky for days and days. It is ferociously muddy, but at least the rain has stopped (until tomorrow).
The vinyl records are suppose to be showing up tomorrow. Robert has had notification, but we're not sure whether they will; they could be coming in by air, or they could be caught up in a gigantic lorry in an eleven mile queue in Kent, or a ten mile one in Calais. I have never felt less like a pop star, but the Punk Girl Diaries send an email saying 'Dear Pop Star..', with an invitation to their Twitter party, so maybe I am- at least to them, and that's pretty fabulous!
Over on that there Face-ache, academic colleagues are posting coded messages about what it's been like this term. It certainly has, it certainly has. There are a few weeks break from the eight-hour online days, which I'll spend working on my book, burrowing through piles of photocopied articles making sure my referencing is just right: I've fixed half of the sub-editor's corrections but there are some specific ones that are a little more tricky. Somewhat ironically, the book that necessitated a visit to the library that took several hours the week before last, was actually not needed in the reference section because the publisher uses a different referencing system to Harvard, which I'd been using. I think it is all worth it though. I became so detached from the book at one point that it felt as though someone else had written it, but now if feels just as heartfelt as The Lost Women of Rock Music, and even more necessary (thinks coded thought about students at work).
The tiny and scrawny Christmas tree is in from the back yard, weighed down by enormous baubles. It hasn't got a clue what's happening, but at least it makes things seem a little bit more Christmassy around here. Negotiations with the Offsprogs have worked out a doorstep visit with hot water bottles and a promise of pretend-Christmas next year (if there is ever an end to this: when are you going to take responsibility, anti-maskers?). The tiny and scrawny Christmas tree will come back into the house, probably slightly confused by then. I've lost the tinsel somewhere in the loft, so there might be a chance to find it in time for Christmas, the sequel.
Normally me and Champagne Friend go to Southwark Cathedral to bellow out some carols on this night, and tuck a tenner into an envelope for Crisis: next, year, next year. And I always go to the carols at St Johns Church in Barnet on Christmas Eve, where me and a friend once stood in front of a group of teenage girls who finished every carol a line earlier than everyone else, and then sang O Little Town Of Bethlehem to an entirely different tune to the rest of the congregation all the way through- without even noticing. That was a very typical 'Barnet Normal' experience, a bit like the bowling green scarecrows. How dare you laugh!
So no carols on Christmas Eve: I'm tempted to do a kitchen disco on Facebook, or something like that. We'll see.
I have loaded up on books, and most of the time will be lazing about reading trashy detective stories without even the TV on, eating leftover Lindt chocolate Santas. I might manage a bit of radio, a bit of Gideon Coe, Gary Crowley and Lauren Laverne, perhaps. And some recording- all this year's songs, a new album. How will I ice the cake?
Wednesday, December 16, 2020
Bowling Green Scarecrows. Barnet 'Normal'.
I went for a quiet walk.
On my way home, I heard a hullabaloo.
A man, his wife, and a dog.
'IT'S A LOAD OF BOLLOCKS TIER THREE PUBS CLOSED RESTAURANTS CLOSED HOSPITALITY CLOSED IT'S A LOAD OF BOLLOCKS!!!!'
I was quite a long way away but he had one of those carrying sorts of voices.
I could hear the faint voice of his wife, either agreeing or disagreeing.
A hard rubber ball hit the ground with a ferocious impact behind me. He had one of those 'throwing a ball for a dog' plastic things, and it's long-distance function was working just fine.
Across the shallow valley, his voice reverberated.
'IT'S A LOAD OF BOLLOCKS TIER THREE PUBS CLOSED RESTAURANTS CLOSED HOSPITALITY CLOSED IT'S A LOAD OF BOLLOCKS!!!!'
I could still hear him when he was far in the distance.
'IT'S A LOAD OF BOLLOCKS!!!! IT'S A LOAD OF BOLLOCKS!!!!!'.
I tried to take a photo of him, but he was so far away you couldn't even see him in the picture.
What an amazingly useful man. Whenever I need anyone to say anything's a load of bollocks at a massive volume, I'll make sure to find him and put him to good purpose.
Four huge piles of files: in one folder in one of them (there are around 20 folders), are lyrics to songs from two years ago.
I can't face it. I pick up the first folder. It's the right one!
Tuesday, December 15, 2020
That Time of Year
One year, I got flu and left my house keys at work. I thought I'd left them in my car, opened the car up to look for them and forgot to lock it again. Thieves stole my Satnav and my vintage light-up iPod.
Another year, I also locked myself out of the house. I put the shopping in the front door and the keys on the side, realised that I'd forgotten something and slammed the door shut. That time, I drove to Brighton, took Offsprog One and Offsprog Two to breakfast, borrowed a set of keys from one of them and drove back in time to put the food away in the fridge.
This year's disaster was narrowly averted. I went to the bank to pay the newspaper delivery bill, and also to check whether Stampit had taken money out of the account. I bought a rubber stamp from them for Pea Soup that was supposed to stamp 1000 images. I'd decided to stamp up some of the remaining copies descending from number 100 and do a limited edition of red and green Christmas covers. Alas, the rubber had a dent through it that meant I couldn't use it- it had deteriorated. I spent ages persuading them that there was a problem, and finally managed to get a tiny reduction in price for a replacement- which hasn't arrived in time. I wondered if I'd forgotten to pay for it, but I hadn't. It's just lost in the post somewhere. O the trials!
These things were too much for the annual brain-of-sponge fest caused by teaching intensely in the first semester. Brain-of-sponge is a regular occurrence at this time of year, and I try not to do anything too taxing most of the time. I thought painting red and green peas on a record cover might be a nice peaceful activity. Then I took on some extra marking work, then realised that I was 100 miles behind with Christmas shopping for a Christmas that might not happen, got the sub-edited proofs back from the sub editor that have to be looked at before she signs off for Christmas on Friday, the vacuum cleaner decided to blow instead of suck, the broken extractor fan in the bathroom is going to stay broken because I can't find an electrician to fix it (they've all gone back to central Europe because anywhere is better than here at the moment), I thought I'd forgotten to write the address on the envelope of the letter I sent to my friend in the USA (I hadn't forgotten), the curtains have started falling down, I accidentally smashed my favourite mug and one of Offsprog Two's flatmates has suspected Coronavirus so I'm worried all the time. And a lot of students are very upset because they have been isolated for such a long time, and they know I'll listen because I feel so sorry for their situation. So I can't sleep.
That might be why I walked away form the bank machine and left my card poking out of it.
Luckily, I know about brain-of-sponge fest. It happens every year, so I check for my keys. I even check that I'm dressed, it's that bad. So I checked for my bank card and... oh SHIT! You should have seen me run. The length of the High Street, like a flapping goose. There it was, a smirk on its little plastic face.
Ha ha, bank card. You didn't get me this time.
I hope Stampit.com feel really really guilty now. I have no festive Pea Soups to put on Bandcamp, and checking to see that I'd paid their invoice (I had) almost lost me my bank card. In January, I will have the annual celebration, 'I Survived Brain Of Sponge'.
You can join me if you wish, all two of you!
Wood Wide Web
I have written quite a few songs this year, more than I could do kitchen videos of, especially because lecturing has been so full-on. There's enough for an album, which I'll start to record during the Christmas holidays. There will be nothing else to do.
This is quite a recent one, which I'm only just learning to play. I've completely fallen in love with trees since the pandemic struck. I love them. I used to feel like this when I was about fifteen, and I'm glad to feel it again.
Monday, December 14, 2020
It's been another long and very intense online teaching day. By the end of these days, my shoulders have seized up, I've got tinnitus and the muscles around my eyes are aching. In spite of that, I feel that by lecturing, and by caring about education, I might be helping a bit. These are tough times for all of us.
Last week, Shanne came for a visit and we went for a very plodgy, muddy walk through the edge of the woods (we got completely bogged down in the middle). When we came into the edge of the town, we stopped off for an alfresco coffee and sandwich. I haven't really been in a proper coffee shop since March. The smell was heavenly! I had forgotten that smell: proper Italian coffee, cakes, olive oil, chopped fresh salad vegetables for the sandwiches. What a pleasure to inhale the aroma of normality just for ten minutes!
This is daily peace time. After teaching, I close the computer down and just sit. I've done as much as is humanly possible. There is a lot about working through the pandemic that I can't even engage with, and I'm not. It will all have to wait until next year. You know what I mean.
I went out briefly to get some food but there's no way I have the energy to (a) prepare it or (b) eat it.
I will just sit here and think about it.
Yes.... that's nice.
My friends will get their Christmas cards in early 2021, and my family's parcels of presents will probably arrive around then too. I've seen the Post Office queues, and they're not a pretty sight. I've panic-bought Yorkshire Puddings for Christmas dinner, and filled a box with potatoes as insurance against a No-Deal Brexit. Standing on my head might be just as useful.
Where's that peace I was talking about? Somewhere around the corner, maybe.
Sunday, December 13, 2020
Thanks to Backseat Mafia for a Great Review!
Friday, December 11, 2020
Wednesday, December 09, 2020
I wonder if I like pelicans because I like pecans, or pecans because I like pelicans, or neither of the two.
Tuesday, December 08, 2020
Well, it's 8.30 p.m. and I've just decided to stop marking for the day. I started at 7.30, stopped at 8.30 and rushed to Stratford to the University library to check some page ranges for my book bibliography (today was the last day they could keep them reserved), came back and started marking again. Rushing to Stratford involved charging nearly two miles across the common in the fog to the station so I could avoid the Underground, and doing the same back again in the other direction, so I've taken the day's exercise.
It now seems too late to watch TV and the book I finished last night went straight into the bin because it was so miserable. Ha ha, miserable book! Serves you right!
I was thinking about pecan nuts. I remember the first time I saw them as child in the village delicatessen that had just stopped being the worst fruit shop in the world. There was a pile of them and I asked McMum what they were. McMum was American, in spite of her name, so she knew exactly what they were. I remember tasting one for the first time. Bliss! To this day, they are my favourite nut. Walnuts under a steamroller!
That's it for tonight. I'm tired.
Sunday, December 06, 2020
Deep breath And Dive In
It's gonna be a wall-to-wall-work-week this coming week. I have taken a deep breath in today; every second of every day is spoken for. I am grateful to have work, even though it's a very intense time, a very intense term. The copy editor has also made loads of progress with the book; I have a scheduled trip to the University library one day to fill in some gaps in the bibliography. By Friday I will look like a compost heap, because there won't be time to look nice. I already have lockdown hair. If I hadn't relented and chopped off a few centimetres a couple of months ago, it would be down to my bum: a tangled mess.
I'm looking forward to Christmas, although it won't be a proper one. No carol nights with friends, only limited family time. I will repair the broken bits of the house, read books, record songs, walk, have a proper break from lecturing. Sew on some buttons. Eat chocolate.
Friday, December 04, 2020
Out Today: 'Equal Parts'
Here you are! Digital version available now, and you can reserve a vinyl 10" copy (which includes digital tracks) to be sent out later in December
Wednesday, December 02, 2020
Margate Radio Plays 'D-Spair'
First time that this particular track from our EP has been played. Ben Eshmade ran Daylight Music at the Union Chapel pre-Rona, and that's where me and Robert first got talking about music. Robert was playing guitar with Judy Dyble and was hanging out with Ian Button. It was easy to get talking and when he suggested a collaboration at the end of last year, I was bound to say 'yes'.
Life can be absolute crap at times, but these collaborations are worth more than being a millionaire to me (although that doesn't stop me from doing the Lottery from time to time). It's such an adventure; it's so stimulating and exciting. Life doesn't pass me by- the hurt and fear and anger that everyone feels belong to me too, because I'm part of everyone as well a being part of music.
Getting over the painful fingers years ago- that was so worth it! It's like having some sort of machine within you that converts bad stuff to good stuff. You can sit there with an emptied out head and an emptied out heart, and then a glimmer of light appears somewhere in the recesses of your brain, or rather a glimmer of sound.... and off you go on a new song, travels in your imagination.
I have a new song to work on for Friday's Song Circle. On Monday, we were talking in class about music being out of date and so on. One of the students talked about some 2020 artists they were listening to, and of course afterwards I raced to Youtube to listen. One, I didn't like: Melodyne vocals have had their time and should be thrown into the dustbin with ADT (automated double tracking: the vintage Kylie sound). I hate the murdering of women's voices so much that I wrote a book about it (out February!). The other, though, was intriguing: shades of D'Angelo via Frank Ocean. I looked up the chords online, and lo and behold! They were familiar friends, deliberately crushed together with no breathing space so that they created an emotional punch. I'd got my melody from the dream I had on Sunday night, sung on to my phone. I woke in the night and was too tired to record it, but I think I got it right when I woke up properly. The rest came from yesterday's five-miler. The eight hour online work day on Monday resulted in a seized- up body and it needed a lot of unwinding; more song came as I was walking. Last night I stretched and pulled the melody like a baker kneading dough and all night long it played in my head, stabs and stops, working itself out as I slept. Difficult chords to play, new things for old fingers!
Back to Ben Eshmade and his show on Margate Radio- here's the link. He has a very wide taste in music, and is truly a curator of new stuff in the best sense of the word. Big thanks for this, Ben:
Tuesday, December 01, 2020
I am hugely proud of both of my children. The oldest has just passed her MA with a distinction, and the youngest has been working throughout the entire pandemic for a fashion magazine, every single day without fail. We had chocolate cake on Sunday in the park.
More Airplay, and a Cancellation
Thanks to Colin's Cuts for this, today: https://www.mixcloud.com/ColinSpencer/colins-cuts-253-kane-fm-1037-kanefmcom-7-9am-tue-1dec20-kanefm-colinscuts/
Alas, the gig at the Country Soul Sessions- our EP launch- has been cancelled. And there's me finally twisting my fingers around Robert's chords and even learning the German bits to sing! We will definitely be raring to go at The Lexington on June the 12th 2021, however!
I've just returned from a five-miler, necessary to recover from an eight-hour online slog yesterday, the most delightful part of which featured a talk by the singer and song writer Katy Carr. I have to say it couldn't have happened without the help of the fantastic Katrina Townsend who manages to get the huge and hulking sulky rocket of Microsoft Teams off the ground and into space, time after time.
Today, I've concluded that the app works between PCs, and between Macs and PCs, but not between Mac computers. Next time I'm round Bill Gates's for a cup of tea and a slice of Battenburg cake, I think I'll have a word with him about this. Taking an hour to get access to a Teams meeting doesn't involve the right to pat oneself on the back, you know. It really doesn't.
Back to the five miler... the body said 'not' this morning, but once me and the body were on our way everything was fine, and as usual I nipped into the shops for a bun to eat on the return journey. Nuts, goo, flaky pastry... then AAARGH!!
The whole of the middle bit was stuffed with marzipan!!!
They know I don't like marzipan!!!
It sounds like such a nice idea ('just almond essence and sugar') but it tastes like cyanide and it has a texture like sandy butter.
I had to just eat the edge bits and chuck the rest in the bin. The resulting sulk was energising, and I got home before I left. No I didn't. Never believe anything you read online 😉