One of my favourite animals is the hare. To escape being detected, it jumps sideways to break its scent trail.
It is then faced with an entirely different landscape to work out a route through.
I keep this in mind, constantly.
https://helenmccookerybook.bandcamp.com/track/hare
Stop press! I'm honoured to be part of a supporting cast for Caroline Trettine's album launch on the 12th of September. Terry Edwards will join me for a couple of songs.
Look at the line-up!
Further details here: www.carolinetrettine.com
I've recorded thirteen songs for my new album and as always, it is changing tack as it goes on. Originally I'd thought of a simple guitar and vocal recording but then it just grew. I am going to ask a couple of other guest musicians next week (they may say no, because they are both very busy), but as it is it is already surprising me with its sound.
I tried to record one of the songs this morning but I've got a gig tomorrow and a rehearsal this afternoon and I couldn't relax enough to do it. In a few day's time, maybe.
Also, I'm out of coffee!
I'm sitting like a zombie and thinking like a slug. Why? A weekend of gigs and a day of recording and rehearsal following on from that.
On Saturday, I was invited by Elodie Ginsbourg, the force of nature behind Da DA DA fanzine, to a really lovely birthday party. Despite transport problems, I didn't miss too much of it. When I got there, the Middle Ones were just finishing their set, and Crumbs took to the stage to play a loud, punk-inspired and lively set that completely redefined the link between party dresses and music.
The venue for the party was upstairs at the immaculately Victorian Channing Hall in central Sheffield, whose large windows illuminated a spacious room filled with round tables hosting excited families. Elodie's many friends circled around helping: Pete Dale of Milky Wimpshake was on sound desk duties, and although I have known him as an academic colleague, I've never actually seen them play. They are a trio who play powerful guitar-based songs and I really enjoyed their set too. Before theirs, I'd been on to play and at Elodie's request, finished with a singalong of The Bathing Pond. It's been this summer's song of the set, which I never really expected.
I think one of my favourite parts of the party was the quiz. Jamie from Crumbs had written a special song to introduce the interlude, Is This The Quiz (I think). Every quiz should have this! It was exciting; I have always avoided them, but this felt like it would be fun. Joined by the two guys from Sassyhiya (our team name was HiyaSassy), we blundered happily through it all and scored eleven out of sixteen. Not all the mistakes were mine!
Finally, Sassyhiya played a set with seven new songs in it. They were very good, and rocked the evening. I particularly liked the lead guitar playing, which due to distortion effects sounded like a crazy string quartet snaking through the songs at times. I was sitting chatting to Duncan at the time (thanks for coming along) and he enjoyed that too. There was some great DJ-ing from Steve Dore and from Madeleine.
Later on, some of us ate pizza at those round tables. The spotty balloons were popped, everything was packed up and we headed back to Elodie's very stylish home. Next morning Elodie, her daughter Madeleine and me walked to the bakers to collect pastries. Outside there were benches, and on the benches were her friends from the party drinking coffee in the sunshine and chatting. What a friendly city it is! She told me about a garden taken over by badgers, sharing of frogspawn, all sorts of positive ways of making a community that are a thousand million miles away from Elon Musk's bleak techworld.
Sadly, I had to leave and train it over to Halifax, which was a thankfully much less eventful journey than the nightmare of Saturday's St Pancras St Panic. I got to the Grayston Unity a little early, which Thomas was delighted by, because the sound check time was a bit short. I had time for a wander after that before going back, and there was my friend Alison who loves music with a passion and goes to loads and loads of gigs. Phil Fowler was also there, and they had already met before in Todmorden market. I don't think Alison knew that Phil could saw people in half as part of his magic act- or at least he could long ago, when Lester Square and I organised rambling variety shows that we took to the Edinburgh Fringe.
Musically, this was an utterly different gig. Matthew (The Silver Reserve) plays quiet, intense songs that he mediates through a series of vocal mics, loop pedals and so on. He's been on tour with Gordon MacKinney, who hails form Oklahoma and who had a pic-up band of keyboards, cahon, fiddle and guitar alongside him. Both artists sang reflective, quite blue songs. I was sandwiched between and felt rather brash in comparison (but maybe I'd carried a bit of punk from the day before in my guitar case), but actually there was a very, very rousing rendition of... The Bathing Pond at the end of my set. I had to slip out before the end of Gordon's set which was a shame, but getting home on a Sunday on the train could have been a nightmare. Again though, I was struck by how people want to be a community. The Grayston Unity is a lovely venue, such a welcoming place to play, and the people who go to gigs there really treasure it.
Home not too late, and glad of it. The following day Clémentine March came to record guitar on one of my new songs. It didn't take her long to settle in to the track and play some really fabulous stuff. I was so delighted that she agreed to do this: I've got great limitations as a guitarist, and listening back to what she did later on, I could see how much difference it makes to include guest musicians on songs. And she has another song from the album which she will add something to and send over later today.
Just as Clémentine was leaving, Ruth was arriving. Yes, we were rehearsing for Sunday's festival gig! Karina couldn't come because her van played up on the way back from Hereford, but Lester Square could, and we had a concentrated rehearsal of the three songs he's going to play on. Boy, has he done his homework! He's made a very Cramps-ish riff to wriggle through Three Cheers for Toytown, and again I was blown away by what can be done by a complete craftsperson on a guitar. He upped the game for all three of us, because Ruth's bass playing took on a slinky feel. Home rehearsals have that same relaxed vibe as home recording sessions- there is time for chatting and eating and getting to know things about each other that you just wouldn't be able to do in a rehearsal studio. I am convinced that my kitchen has some sort of magic 'trust' bubble that makes people able to speak honestly and safely when they are together. Ruth had to tolerate Lester and me talking about our past exploits, unfortunately! I hope we aren't to boring and old-daysish. Sometimes you forget just how much creative time you spend with people, and in the case of Lester Square, we have done a lot- TV sound tracks, musicals, you name it.
Tuesday, yes Tuesday was zombie day. I actually did the ironing and even that felt exhausting. But I listened at last to the Radical Friendship Theory album that Robert Rotifer has created. It showcases Kenji's vocal contributions beautifully. There are not enough recordings of his gentle, silky voice and I deeply regret that the project I asked him to sing on was let down by literally everyone else (apart from Michel) being totally flaky. Everyone. Scroll up again, and you'll see how much energy Elodie put into her party: it was a fantastic thing to be part of. But all these things are balancing acts of goodwill ad faith in people's contributions. This is what Robert is celebrating with his album: he asks his friends, and we say 'yes'. Hats off to Robert for having the idea and bringing it to fruition! Gideon Coe has already played a track on his show, one with Kenji's singing. I hope he plays more.
I also listened to the latest album by Pete Bentham and the Dinner Ladies, Art, Religion and Chocolate Biscuits. I'll be interviewing Pete on the Literary Stage at the Rebellion punk festival, and he kindly sent me the album to listen to. They are from Liverpool, and their sound varies from complete punkiness to much more reflective tracks. So far, my favourite is the song about not jamming. This strikes a deep chord within me because I can't do it at all. I am going to play that track to death.
A million years in a few days! Real people, playing real music, talking, having ideas: making life and making culture despite the seemingly determined efforts of spoilsports and miserygutses to ruin everything. Thank you to Elodie for inviting me to play at her party and to all of the people who played so fabulously well on Saturday, to the people at the Graytson Unity, to people who go to gigs, to Clémentine, Ruth, Lester and Karina. This is the way we create hope. Toot toot!
On Sunday, a HUGE free festival in Twickenham.
I'll be in the Eel Pie pub at 1 p.m. with an unusual band line-up that includes the fabulous, unique Lester Square on guitar, Ruth Tidmarsh on bass and vocals, and Karina Townsend (sax, melodica and vocals).
Please come!
We'd love you to hear us
Gig number one is the birthday party for Da Da Da zine, run by Elodie Ginsbourg. It's in Sheffield and starts at 3 p.m.
I'll be on at 5.30
Tickets here: https://www.skiddle.com/whats-on/Sheffield/Channing-Hall/DA-DA-DA-party/42375316/
Tomorrow's gig is in Halifax at the wonderful Grayston Unity. Again, it's an afternoon gig (starting at 2 p.m.)
Tickets here and also available on the door: https://www.seetickets.com/event/afternoon-of-storytellers/the-grayston-unity-hx1-1pu/3631481
I'm tired, mixing socialising with working on the music. Mixing music.
Still there is so much to learn; timbre is so absorbing. I've learned that the difference between playing a ukulele with a pick and with your thumb makes a massive impact on the sound- and also that uke chords sustain for much longer than I'd thought. I am going to have to divide my playing between tiny fingers (uke), medium fingers (banjo) intermediate fingers (guitar), and large fingers (bass). If there are any of these I can't manage I'll have to draft in the music troops.
I have a guest musician coming this afternoon, another on Monday, and another on Wednesday. This has involved Snacks Purchasing and House Cleaning and running the washing machine at unholy hours.
Yesterday I met Rowen, my friend from long ago. It was really nice to catch up with her and her positive news, and to take a holiday from recording, although at one point I inadvertently steered the conversation towards music technology!
Last night we had a really great ladies rehearsal at my old workplace. I love rehearsing with Ruth and Karina, it's always surprising how well our voices go together (well, particularly theirs- I can't hear mine!). I bent down to pick up my guitar lead earlier in the afternoon before I left and thought 'I'll just do a little bit of editing before I go', and forgot the lead. Nobody in the electronics shops in Stratford knew what a guitar cable was. In one place they looked so disappointed not to be able to help that I had to explain 'It's a specialist cable'.
All that concentrating: it was tiring, but we sorted a lot out. It's a mini-band for the High Tide Festival on the 26th of July (The Eel Pie Pub in Twickenham, on at 1 p.m. and it's free!). Lester Square will be joining us too. And thanks to Karina, I know know what a Fluffy is!
I spent this morning re-doing a tricky guitar part, then these books showed up. I now have some to sell at gigs and so on.
I've just done some backing vocals on the track that will be the last one on the album. Terribly self-indulgent, doncha know! The plan for finishing everything is crystallising out very slowly. It includes a lot of re-playing (grr), doing all the lead vocals as soon as the weather has cooled down, a guest guitarist coming on Thursday and another on Monday, a guest vocalist on Wednesday, and then picking up Gran's banjo from Maggie to try to pick a few bars on one of the songs. I feel like Gran should be there on the record, because her spirit (or her genes, Chris Packham) has been with me during my whole life like reinforced steel in my bones, and kindness encircling my mind whenever times have been tough. And times were very tough at the end of the 1970s.
Live in or near Halifax? Join us next Sunday afternoon at this lovely venue, @graystonunity with @mckinneygordon and @thesilverreserve
Tickets: https://www.seetickets.com/event/afternoon-of-storytellers/the-grayston-unity-hx1-1pu/3631481
Who's coming to the @dadada_fanzine party on Saturday in Sheffield? with @sassyhiya @milkywimpshake @crumbsband @steve_dore_ and The Middle Ones.
And me! I'm on at 5.30
Tickets here: https://www.skiddle.com/whats-on/Sheffield/Channing-Hall/DA-DA-DA-party/42375316/?
I'm doing too much work on the songs because it's so hot that it's impossible to do anything else. One good thing is realising that in some cases what I hear in my head is not possible. That Hofner bass guitar sound with reverb? You actually need a Hofner bass guitar for that, and I haven't got one any more.
But two songs that I thought sounded awful now sound great. And the clever little chord sequence that I inserted into a simple song sounds terrible. And one song that I spent ages putting a bass line on sounds better without it.
One day, I might think it's stupid to go backwards songwriting-wise. But there's a driving force behind these songs that is making me feel really strong when perhaps life issues could be making me feel weak.
The most ironic thing is having spent almost a lifetime bringing the stories of punk women into visibility in ways that mean that they couldn't be swept under the carpet ever again, there is currently a large powerful broom sweeping me under the carpet. Me and my big ideas!
Yesterday was a reminder that you need not only a different mindset but different fingers (same hands) to play bass guitar. Long strides instead of tiptoes. Needs a couple of days of immersion!
You open the door and in come the bluebottles, wasps and gnats. Today though, despite the heat, I am totally focused on playing bass.
In my head, the songs have had basslines playing alongside them for days, if not weeks. It's just that they didn't seem quite ready.
I've just recorded bass on to a song, and suddenly the whole project seems grown-up. What I played was really simple, but sound is so complicated. In an instant, the resonance of the backing vocals came to the forefront, sounding positively aeolian. The dodgy lead vocal became entirely acceptable and the slightly 'off' guitar sound made sense, reaching down from its perch to invite the bass into the song.
I threw out an irrelevant section straight away.
With bass you can dance your body as you play, even if it's just in your head. I'm going to have a busy afternoon.
Get on with your own business, buzzy things, and I'll get on with mine.
This morning's task has been to continue editing the guitar parts for the album. I've discovered that if Flextime is used too much, you can hear it really obviously on the tracks. There's only one track where this is a problem- in fact the track has been a bundle of problems right from the start because of it's odd, stilted rhythm. The rhythm may well dictate the fact that the whole thing is going to be slightly offbeat, but that might be nice. Maybe!
For an ears rest I go out into the back yard and listen to next door's down-talking. The dog barks quite a lot, but then that's what dogs do. At least it doesn't sound hysterical, like the poor Springer Spaniel that used to be shut in all day by itself in the house on the other side. That dog used to try to get out through the letterbox, and you could hear it yelping from the bottom of the street. I spoke to the owners about that, just once. 'No, you can't', they gaslit.
Probably like a lot of people, I've been trying to avoid Mr Frogface the Tedious Bulshitter ever since... always. Tennis, football and Frogface: the tellybox is having a rest for a bit. I'm roaring through the terrible crime paperbacks like nobody's business, although I've read an actual novel this week, which seemed to be very dull until the last few pages, which suddenly became incredibly sad. Was it worth the emotional labour? I'm not sure. Life is full of emotional labour at the best of times anyway without a novel rubbing your face in the nettles (that was a village punishment meted out by the village bully to little boys that she didn't like) (and no, it wasn't me!).
Daylight Music is a wonderful concept: lunchtime concerts concentrated into a two-hour time slot in churches. It started in the Union Chapel in Islington, where I played and where I met Robert Rotifer and Ian Button, actually. They were part of the late Judy Dyble's band, who were playing that day.
It's now moved to Leytonstone, not far from the tube station. Going yesterday was a no-brainer because not only was Clémentine March playing, but Terry Edwards was playing between the main acts.
They have food and drink: cake, quiche, coffee. The slice of quiche I bought remained delicious even though I dropped it face first on the ground (shh!). There was a pile of blank postcards, and two artists drawing live: their drawings were projected on a screen alongside the performers. I drew some postcards, which are on my Instagram here: https://www.instagram.com/helenmccookerybook/
Ben Eshmade was master of ceremonies, as well he should be. He has been the driving force behind this from the start. In a bright pink t-shirt and with bright orange hair he lassooed the volunteers, performers and audience into a Saturday lunchtime community where we all felt comfortable and welcome. Thank you, Ben.
Clémentine was first to perform. The last time I saw her she had a band and was playing 'electric', with an effects pedal, drummer and bass player. This time she was acoustic, with a basic drum machine for some of the songs. Her voice is really distinctive and (my favourite thing), devoid of any affectation. She is so different to Hollie Cook as a performer, but there is that same clear declaration of musicality in the way that she sings. There was an almost-yodel in Power of your Dreams, but that's as far as it got. Perhaps you could compare her singing to that of Joan as Policewoman, but her songwriting is very, very different. In Clémentine's chord cupboard there are Brazilian riffs, but also references to the Canterbury songwriting of Kevin Ayers. The latter is more apparent when she plays electric, but you could still hear whiffs of it in the acoustic performance. Yes, the songs... I always love it when I see someone and wish I'd written one of the songs. Lucie is such a song. As far as I can see, it's perfect. She played a couple of songs from her forthcoming album, Planets and Whispers. It was good to hear her challenging herself with new material in such an exposed setting- though she said that she loves playing in churches.
Terry Edwards is a multi instrumentalist (he's the chap who played that riff on Three Cheers for Toytown) and he played a piano interlude as the changeover took place. Ben then introduced Dominy Hooper, a cellist/guitarist from the West Country. She played a song about the perils of the countryside, called Hurricane, on electric guitar. Both the guitar songs and the cello songs reminded me of the Penguin Café Orchestra, who I really love. Her singing voice is strong and powerful and passionate, and it blended particularly well with the cello playing.
After another Terry interlude, Isa Gordon took the final spot. Her music is much more folk-rooted in Scottish and American traditions, and she played from her new album, 8 Men. The first song, To The Wall, was acapella, then she played electric guitar along to a backing track. The subjects ranged from ancient advice to women to keep their pants on, to horrendous pig farms in Wiltshire, via War Pigs by Black Sabbath, where she demonstrated some superb guitar playing. Despite the folk origins of her work, there was a definite nod to Laurie Anderson in parts of her set.
Ian Damaged and Alison Wonderland were there, and we had a nice chat. And Terry has just written a string quartet. In fact it was such a friendly session that I found myself talking to lots of people, including a conversation about Red Kites with the man on the door. Did you know they have been encouraged southwards down the M4 from Birmingham?
Well, that's it for today!
You have to be strict with yourself when you record at home.
One of the songs was 10 beats per minute too fast, and I gritted my teeth and re-recorded the guitar part. I made such a mess of it that I did three different versions to edit from- but they were all so different I had to give up and just play the whole song again.
I closed the computer after that.
Tomorrow, I'll listen to see if it's any good.
Over the weekend I'll do repairs to other guitar parts, and some re-writing of clunky lyrics (if I can do it).
Then maybe next week can be vocals week!
This is a big free festival in Twickenham. I will be playing at 1 p.m. in the Eel Pie Pub, joined on the day by Ruth Tidmarsh, Lester Square and Karina Townsend
I've 'laid down' the guitars for the last song of the album, and also re-recorded the guitar parts for another song and made them worse.
It's time to watch Boon, nestled as it is between ads for funeral plans, will pledges and stairlifts. How cheery! The approaching full stop of life has never looked so enticing!
Might have another go at those guitars after Boon. In the afternoon, after Boon. Ha ha!
It's so peculiar- I feel as though I have been away for months, but it's only been three days.
On Saturday afternoon I went to Dumfries by train, via Carlisle. As usual, the west coast service was late (the doors got stuck at Preston and we then followed a slow train up the line, they told us). I caught the Dumfries train by the skin of my teeth. Many drunken Scotsmen and their families were on board, talking at maximum volume. A young girl sat opposite me and smiled, then did a bunk at Gretna Green after the conductor asked for her ticket.
The hotel was very 'Blackpool'. There were no batteries in the TV remote, the curtains didn't close, and the used tissue with lipstick on it told a story of unwashed sheets. Oh, the joys of travelling. I also forgot the toothpaste and had to brush my teeth with bubblebath. Delicious, refreshing!
There are three buses to Gatehouse Of Fleet from Dumfries on Sundays. Apparently the dastardly company Stagecoach used to run the service, but pulled out after they asked the council for more money and the council said 'no'. But in Scotland the buses show up and fill up, gradually. It was an easy journey.
The Galloway countryside is completely beautiful: it is lush, intensely green and it undulates with small hills. At Castle Douglas, a huge bull made of wicker glowered across the park at the bus full of Sunday morning travellers.
With several hours to kill before the gig, I went to the Mill Café, where an open mic fringe event had already started. This village loves its music! I was asked to play a couple of songs and checked in with the festival organiser Alan McLure, who said it was fine. There was a lot of great singing and playing, all embedded in storytelling; even the cover versions had significance to the people singing them.
After a while, I went to the lovely little park which was absolutely humming with the aroma of roses. That's where I finished the song about Vi Subversa, sitting on a bench surrounded by flowers and soft sunshine.
When I got to the Community Centre (great grandfather's old school building, now repurposed), the other musicians of the afternoon were there, a duo called Sunshine and the Silver Seams. They started the afternoon off with a set of perfectly-pitched folk-pop, with such tight harmonies that they seemed to sing as one. The community centre was pretty packed and they got a wonderful reception.
Actually, the whole afternoon was really great. I'd made a set list that had everything from the more emotional side of things (All I Want Is The Sun To Shine For You) to the damn silly (At The Bathing Pond), and there was some delightfully lusty singing for the latter which continued for the encore, Three Cheers for Toytown, which sprouted rather a lot of extra human-sung trumpet breaks when it became apparent that the audience participation wasn't going to stop! What a lovely, welcoming community of people. They had listened to the words, which doesn't always happen. I got compared to both Victoria Wood and the Marine Girls, and was told a wonderful anecdote about an incident at a Poison Girls gig witnessed by the Treasurer's partner (shhh!). There was lots more chatting afterwards, and to round the afternoon off, I had a raspberry ice cream before getting the bus back to Dumfries.
While waiting for the train at Dumfries next morning and to escape the diesel fumes, I walked along the platform to an inadvertent little nature reserve where there was a lovely aroma of lime trees, some unusual bright red weeds, and the discarded empty fur suit-skin of a poor rabbit that had been feasted on, probably by a buzzard or something.
On that train, a woman tried to photograph her friend and took a picture of her bare foot instead, much to the merriment of everyone around her. The train guard was whistling Sing Hosanna slightly out of tune for the whole journey, which I imagine might be rather threatening for a young person wishing to bunk their fare. Travelling back through Carlisle, I managed to resist some rolls of leopardskin wallpaper that were for sale in a charity shop for practically nothing. I have no spare wall space, alas.
I sat and ate a sandwich in the sun, and a gull stalked me for ages before making a swoop. I'd already seen two huge gulls barking aggressively at a man innocently eating a marmite sandwich (he told me) on a bench, so I wasn't having it. There was a discarded cup of cold tea on the table, and I chucked the tea at the gull and shouted 'YAH!'. It got the shock of its life and flew off to a polite distance, throwing me slightly hurt glances to try to spoil my lunch. No way, hosepipe! Go to eat some fish and leave me alone.
I was quite surprised at how assertive I felt. Must keep this, must keep this, note to self.
So that was a lot of travel, but it was definitely worth it to play such a gem of a gig!
I have now got 12 songs for the new album, and possibly 13 (how wonderfully 'unlucky'!)
It's too hot to do anything: I've just cancelled going round to Gina's. I haven't seen her for so long I have almost forgotten what she looks like- except I haven't, of course. I am pretty sure we keep each other sane, and that matters a lot.
After a break from hearing my new stuff, I've been properly listening this morning and doing a bit of guitar editing. I need to write more lyrics for a couple of the songs and simply play some of them better, because they are 'feel' songs rather than songs that should accurately march along. I did a lot of backing vocals about ten days ago that I'd completely forgotten about, and they do sound good.
What is going to be hard is getting the lead vocals right. This is not a problem when I'm singing live, but more to do with dynamics when I'm recording. I will have to sing a lot next week, I think, after the gig in Gatehouse of Fleet and when the weather is not so hot. I'd adapted to singing around a cancer in my lung, and now it's been removed my voice is sounding a bit overpowering. I can't dial up a different voice from anywhere, so it will be a case of meeting my expectations with what is physically possible. Ironically, I'm probably better at singing than I was before, but modulating the volume and tone is weird; imagine being given someone else's voice and being told 'sing with that'! You wouldn't believe how grateful I am to even have this 'problem'. I'd thought I might not ever be able to sing again, and was contemplating speaking over music with an instrument playing the melody in rhythm with the voice, or even using AI to mimic my own singing voice. The bottom line is that there is nothing like the feeling of singing, especially if it is your own song that is expressing an emotion you are trying to communicate. Oh Professor Lim and your team, how wonderful you are! God Save The NHS!!!
Right, now I'm ready for more playing. Wish me luck- and fortitude!
That went by quickly! It's been a week since the Golden Hinde gig.
It was the exact opposite to the Brighton gigi terms of mood, sound, everything.
The boat is moored on the Thames not far from London Bridge station; it's one of several replicas of the original boat and is just as low-ceilinged and many-laddered. For such a small ship, it has a remarkably complex layout, but thankfully two toilets.
The sound man was Robert Sekula from 14 Iced Bears, something I found out when I mentioned doing a song by The Chefs and he asked if it was Sweetie. They formed in Brighton in 1985 and I suppose we must have left an echo of our former selves there when we left!
It was one of those simple PA systems, but because of the amount of raw wood, in other words, the whole venue, the sound was very mellow and suited both Pauline and me perfectly. I think it must have been sold out, or almost, and it was nice to see Johny Brown there as well as Gaye and Eric and various other pals.
Seated on benches under the bones of the deck, the audience was a listening crowd and it was really enjoyable to play for them even though most of them had come to hear Pauline. For her, this was a lovely gig: she soon settled into a really beautiful-sounding set and the sound did her proud. I came away with Don't Dictate on my mind, although When we Were Young is probably my favourite song in her current set.
The evening rounded off the weekend perfectly- the chaotic drama of Saturday and the peaceful wooden calm of Sunday. On Monday I went away for the week and had a fantastic time, but by Friday I had the most horrendous cold you can possibly imagine. A whole box of tissues a day!
My great-grandfather was a schoolmaster on Gatehouse-of-Fleet, and my grandfather was brought up there. What a pleasure it will be to play this festival!
The café we'd arranged to meet in was closed, and there were drifts of people heading towards the station as we headed towards the Prince Albert for the Brighton gig with Pauline. We met her on the way and went to sit outside the pub with a coffee as more and more people started to appear, all very fired up with the desire to rebuff the attempts by the fascist crowd to congregate in their lovely, diverse city and poison the atmosphere. A phalanx of police horses trotted by all self-important and snooty.
It was relatively calm outside when we did the soundchecks. The sound guy there is wonderful, and it's a great room to play. But outside the energy was building. Caryne and Dave had arrived for the gig and for them, too, I think it was quite an extraordinary afternoon. People came to the gig- those who could get past the dense crowds of people who were all dressed in their best carnival clothes.
It was time to go on stage, and outside the chants got louder and louder. Keeping my mind on the songs with the rhythms of massed chanting voices was very hard. But the audience was incredibly supportive, and for Pauline too. I think she had to cope with even louder chanting- the police had rather stupidly shepherded the fascist crowd to the cramped street space right outside the pub. The road was rammed with neo-fascists with their angry faces and cheap flags. But the audience was willing Pauline on, and she has the wisecracks to deal with a situation like that; she put on a fine show.
The words of The Sea have never before been so apt. Thank you everyone for singing the chorus, and for being such a positive audience for both of us. It was a very hard gig and would have been scary if anyone had panicked, but nobody did. By the time we finished, the baddies had gone home and there were only a few goodies left, dancing to a little sound system and clearing up the streets with big bin bags.
Great to see you Jerry and Alice, and Sally, and Mark, and Stephen, and Smelly too, who bought two records and was delighted by the whole thing (apparently he was swinging them round in a bag in the pub later).
Tonight we're both at The Golden Hinde, and hoping for a calmer evening. I think there are still some tickets left so please come on down and enjoy the calm with us!
Looking forward to supporting Pauline Murray at the Prince Albert in Brighton, 2 p.m. tomorrow afternoon
Tickets: https://www.seetickets.com/event/pauline-murray-helen-mccookerybook/the-prince-albert/3616963
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I got to the centre around lunchtime and helped (a bit) in finishing the setting-up of the punk art exhibition, mainly by having a lateral brainwave that hair-grips would be the way to anchor Pauline Murray's large photographs to the broad weave canvas display screens in a way that would prevent them from curling up. The work looks absolutely great- there are even painted drum skins, and of course Pauline's painted shirts.
Later on the volunteers at the centre, led by Nick Jepson, set up the stage so I could interview Gaye. There was a very decent crowd and I was delighted to see Foolish Girl again- it's been such a long time! Gaye Black has been doing a lot of interviews recently, and I thought that most of them had probably concentrated on her involvement with the original punk movement, so tonight I asked her about her own collage artwork and about being a curator, because in the UK she really is at the forefront of curating exhibitions by punk musicians who make art in various forms. We also talked about her support for hunt saboteurs and her fostering of fox cubs. I thought it would be interesting to see the ways that she has carried punk's generosity of spirit and campaigning on from the original movement up to the present day. She delivered a magnificent one-liner at the end which I can't get exactly right so I won't write it here- but the event was filmed, so it will probably appear online at some point. She got a massive round of applause at the end.
Then Bobby the venue manager showed the film, and again it got a really good reception. We were sitting close to the front, but behind us you could literally feel people getting really engaged with it. Because it's been dormant for a while, it's easy to forget just how well the women that Gina and me interviewed come over: funny, in the prime of life and definitely thriving despite some of the fairly gruesome things that happened in their careers as punk musicians. Afterwards there were lots of positive conversations, signing of CDs and albums, and selfies. The best thing was the people who worked at the venue being so delighted by the way the evening went down.
It was an extra bonus to see Sheila Ravenscroft, John Peel's wife, after so many years. We had a really nice chat and I think we will keep in touch now.
I'm just resting before going back. Charlie is going to sound-check around 5, then the evening will start at about 7.45 with an interview with him, my set at 8.30, his at 9.15. I hope it's as good as last night! I even sold a framed print of Poly Styrene.
Who's coming to the John Peel Centre in Stowmarket on Tuesday?
I'll be showing 'Stories from the She-Punks' after interviewing Gaye Black of the Adverts.
Yesterday a bunch of us met up at the RFH on the South Bank. When my siblings and their partners' children and our children were small, we all used to meet there regularly. It's a cavernous space with long sightlines. The six children we had between us could potter about without us breathing down their necks, and we could sit and sip coffee and be adults together. Often there would be a band playing; the sound would float around and disappear into the roof. People would walk past, often with black violin-cases to join an orchestra that would be setting up for the night. Nobody ever moved us on, and it was a boon to have the space to congregate especially in hot weather with the cool of the River Thames nearby, rushing past and ignoring us all.
It's still like that, a big communal area that you don't need a lot of money to enjoy. We took a picnic, and realised we'd inadvertently arranged to meet on the day of the hip hop dance competition. We threatened to sign each other up for it. Seventy two (at least) competitors took part, one after the other: 'Three, two, one...'. My favourite was a South Asian woman who danced a hybrid of Bollywood (hands) and hip hop (body), but there were also some phenomenal child dancers. Some of the dancers were very audience-conscious, and they were the better ones. Around the edges, young men practiced their moves, and downstairs we could see couples dancing Salsa to the music- I'm not sure whether that was just an anarchic pop-up thing happening.
I felt a flood of emotions, not just because of James but also because of the South London estate music projects that I used to work on all the time, writing songs for and with community groups. Some of those estates have been demolished and replaced by private housing; the Elephant and Castle is so close to Central London that the developers must be able to make a lot of money. Back in the day, the children I worked with were experienced in doing TV work, for instance: they were so close to where the shows were made (London Weekend Television had studios along by the river). It was a natural way of being inclusive: everything was just on the doorstep. Even the people with learning disabilities that I worked with had been on lots of TV shows, and mentioned it casually sometimes.
The dance competition on Saturday had that same focus on fun and community. Who cares what the toxic racists are up to? Their posturing means nothing when there is so much creativity and energy being created by groups of people who naturally integrate with each other. The competitors weren't even stars for a Warhol-15-minutes-of-fame; it was more like 45 seconds per person. But everyone was watching raptly and cheering the really exceptional dancers. It made my heart happy to see it. I live in a different musical world, but sitting with my family and friends- choir singers, a successful covers-band sax player, an indie guitarist, a brand video production person, a fashion shop manager, an embroiderer and knitter, a photographer- we were immersed in a world of positivity and creativity. As the lid of negativity and hopelessness is nailed down, we pop the nails out and bust our way out of it all the time: we can't help it.
And upstairs, downstairs, round the corner in different bits of the Royal Festival Hall, other people were doing the same: more formally (the classical music programming) and more informally (the skateboarders in the Undercroft). None of it was online: it was all Real.
Tuesday was a bugger of a day. I had to get up at 5.45 to negotiate the tube strike and make sure I could get to Paddington to do a stint as an invigilator at the FAB exhibitions. Even on the mainline a train was cancelled- because it was raining! Four hours later, the train to Bath Spa was just pulling into the station and I got a message from the curator of the bit where I was supposed to be saying that the venue had flooded, though none of the work was damaged. The organisers were hoping the invigilators would mop up the water.
I imagined a six hour day of mopping followed by a four hour journey home, or the gallery not even opening after a three-quarter-mile walk up there, and decided to get the next train straight home. In mitigation, I'm on heavy-duty antibiotics and my actual body said 'no'. I had to buy a whole new ticket because my ticket couldn't be changed.
Later I found out it was a puddle- or at least that's what I was told!
I've immersed myself in music. Yesterday was spent editing guitar parts to the point where I realised I'd have to re-do the guide vocals, which were out of time. Editing is really, really absorbing; actually, I'll replay most of them now I've done proper guide vocals, because seeing the sound-waves helps to show what's been wrong with the guitar playing. I've sung till there's no voice left today.
Next week, I'll be in Stowmarket at The John Peel Centre interviewing Gaye Black on Tuesday before showing Stories from the She-Punks, and then Charlie Harper on Wednesday. I'm just finishing reading his autobiography; his childhood was absolutely extraordinary, and I'll mainly be asking him about that.
Meanwhile, the ironing is piled high on a chair, there are sharp invisible little bits on the floor, guitars all over the place, and badges, embroidery thread, pens and post-it notes all over the sofa. Gina phoned earlier to ask if I'd be able to play a gig and a radio show in Manchester in a couple of weeks' time, but I'll be on my way over to two-buses-a-day Gatehouse of Fleet where our Grandpappy was born and brought up, to play a festival there.
Two buses came along at once that weekend. Bah! Just be happy with what you've got, and drink out of that half-full glass etc etc etc!
There's an exhibition of Jack White's art ( which he describes as 'hardware store' work) at the Newport Street Gallery in Vauxhall. The best bit is the music room where you can play all sorts of electronic instruments through amplifiers, including this Theremin. I wonder how long before they turn them off to preserve the shattered nerves of the staff? Video by Naimad.
I've got two things in the Fringe Arts Bath festival: Gisele Pelicot in the The Stitch That Bit Back exhibition in the Newark Works, and Horse D'Hoovers in The Motive of the Puppeteer exhibition in the Old Glassworks.
Until Wednesday- it's a fantastic day out if you get the chance! There is so much to see.
I wonder if people buy books of drawings? I must have 250 or more drawings now, with notes of the music that I was listening to when I drew each one. I try to imagine how it would work. The paper would have to be of very good quality, and I don't know how or where I would put the notes about the music. The music is really important; it's tied in with the drawings. Online would not be the same. I have noticed when the prints are made that you can see the texture of the pencil-meets-paper dynamic. One woman in Valencia contacted me to say she was concerned that she had bought the original, but I keep them separate from each other for just that reason.
John and Gabi from Tiny Global took the exhibition down last night, which was very kind of them. I have asked them to donate any remaining clip-frames to a charity that they support, and they will bring the unsold prints to the UK next time they come over.
The air is not so thick and soupy today, but I'm still disinclined to do much recording. I did a bit of editing earlier on, but mostly I will be playing guitar to keep my grip strong and my fingers calloused. I feel a bit as though I'm in suspended animation. Next Tuesday is the anniversary of James's death, and images of that time are intruding whether I want them to or not. On the day itself, I'll be in Bath invigilating at the Fringe Arts Bath exhibition, which will be a good place to be.
We all experienced that moment in different ways, and some family members will be having a get-together which will be very sad but also very supportive. It's comforting to feel that he must have known how much he was loved during those last days and hours in the hospital. It was powerful: so many of us there, talking to him and looking after him alongside the medical staff who were keeping him comfortable and calm. We were supporting each other, too, sitting in the café downstairs and chatting in between stints of sitting in his room with him.
When the day passes, will things feel different? I don't know. A wave of sadness came at the funeral, and then afterwards there was the feeling of a huge vacancy. We spent the first seven years of James's life as siblings, and we can't check in on each other with micro memories about that time any more. The difference between photographs and reality has never seemed more stark. He was a solid little chap who soon grew taller and stronger than me, and we were constantly trying to outwit each other. Siblings who are close in age have a particular sort of friendship whose intensity is watered down by rivalry, but simultaneously the urge to defend each other from external challenges and aggressions is incredibly strong. Simply, there was nothing in the world as good as having a pal to climb trees with, completely fearlessly and thoughtlessly. Our parents were the opposite of helicopter parents; forty days at sea parents. The two of us scrapped, shouted, ran, climbed and eventually were in a band together. No wonder I still miss him.
Somehow it doesn't seem so hot today, but that's probably because I haven't been wandering around much. I went for coffee with my neighbour Keith and came back to do a little bit of recording.
I remember that from last time, working in fits and starts to get things sounding right. Because I'm playing guitar in so many different ways on these songs, I'm a bit shaky and I'm having to try all sorts of tricks to get the music out of my hands. I only did an hour, a combo of playing and editing, and will wait till tomorrow to see how it sounds.
There are three flies the size of helicopters flying circuits between the kitchen and here. Every time one of them goes outside, it seems as though it's replaced by another. Thankfully, they are not in landing mode at the moment and I don't have to worry about their horrid little poisonous feet. What with them and the tiny ants coming in looking for whatever they can get their claws on, it's busy round here. Oh yes, and the baby rat in the compost bin! I gave that a wide berth, because of being bitten by a baby rat that I thought was a mouse a few years go. Trusty thick garden gloves the next time I open it to fling in the scraps.
Oh yes, yes too: the poor drowned snail in the watering can that I mistook for a stone, and picked out with my fingers, pinching a shockingly slimy cold splodge between finger and thumb, and shuddering when I realised what it was.
It's like being in the jungle, except the creatures are miniscule. There's nothing to interest David Attenbrough here; there are no hedgehogs or frogs, though I heard a fox singing an entire opera two nights ago, condensed into five minutes of yowling and screaming. A foxera. I'm sure other foxes knew what it meant, but I couldn't understand it no matter how hard I tried. I was glad of the distraction: it's so hard to get to sleep on these hot nights; a bit of small-hours entertainment breaks the tedium.
Whistler was a quirky artist, and probably quite an unpleasant man. In this exhibition there are at least three incidences of him falling out with friends or fellow artists dramatically badly and one of his portraits, of a teenage girl, gives the game away because she looks utterly miserable.
Yet there are some beautiful works in this exhibition. By far the best are the copious tiny sketches he did as he travelled around Europe, having sued Ruskin (also seemingly a horrible man) for defamation after Ruskin said his work was akin to him chucking paint in people's faces, and being awarded a pitiful amount and going bankrupt. There are also some wonderful etchings, a medium of which he was an absolute master; although critics rave about his use of colour, it's the black and white work that appealed the most. There are several self-portraits, and we see him ageing like a rock star, clearly a vain man. His interests, though, were wide and well, interesting: he loved Japanoiserie and collected blue and white china. Somewhat out of character, he could paint very Japanese-looking peacocks. This exhibition demonstrates his love of experimentation and his dislike of the finished article; he's very much a man after my own heart in that respect. My favourite painting is this one, Chelsea Girl. I just love it: she is the coolest little girl ever, and I wish we saw more tough little working class children in the work of famous painters.
My verdict is that it's well worth a visit but wait till it's been around for a while and is less crowded. There are a lot of 'splainers there at the moment, and getting close enough to the little artworks to appreciate them properly can be a trial. Ding dong, over and out.
We were terrified.
