Tonight At The Waiting Room

https://dice.fm/event/yow2w2-caroline-trettine-12th-sep-the-waiting-room-london-tickets

Looking forward to this unique night!

Invisible Photographs

For some reason, Blogger's not uploading photographs at the moment. I have a great photo of Gran's banjo, which I went to collect yesterday and which has a new bridge, tuning peg and fake-gut strings. It sounds lovely. I can't remember how to play one, but it can sit beside me on the sofa until I work it out!

Well, there you go. You now have to upload your photos to the Google Drive. What a fuss.

I wonder how long it will be until people stop using the Internet altogether?

Reminder To Self

This is a reminder-to-self to always make my own audio recording of Zoom calls in which agreements are made, because the link to the recording made by the other party won't turn up in your inbox. Stealing ideas is unethical; flaunting the fact is dishonourable. That is all I have to say on the matter.

Vlogger, Soho

 

Embroidery Finished

It was tempting to have a line of gold thread around the inner margin, but as soon as the needle was threaded the thread started to snag and tangle; it basically opted itself out of the process.

This is the artwork for my next (currently homeless) album, the embroidery finally finished today after months and months. It's inspired by a trip to Newcastle to write songs about the Brighton punk scene; a walk down Northumberland Street early one morning was illuminated by a Geordie chap in a white t-shirt braving the late winter chill and carrying a little cage with a cockatiel in it that looked very much like this one (maybe not so punky). Strange to write about Brighton while in Newcastle? It's a launchpad for ideas, that city. 

I've been sitting upstairs in the house while the kitchen and bathroom were being tiled. The intention was to replace some dodgy guitarring and add some bass to the tracks before mixing; and dropping a box of ceramic tiles on my finger was not part of the plan. But fate gave me the opportunity to complete this, at any rate. Daylight is remarkably motivating for stitching and working on colours, and so are the morning hours.

My ears are still working though. The tiler's drill is in the key of G, and the drum-like tension of the embroidery hoop means that even when I pull the thread through the calico, I can hear from the tone of the vibrating thread whether it has tangled itself up at the back of the tapestry; a shorter thread makes a different sound. 

There are several 'it's a shame about the...' sections in the work , but then there always are, and if I ever did a perfect one I'd stop. 

Years ago on Art Foundation at Sunderland Polytechnic, one of the tutors expressed frustration at the fact that none of the art that I did had any sort of statement attached to it. It's only today that I realised that everything I make is an experiment, whether art, music, or for that matter writing. I sit and think 'What if somebody did this?' and they don't, so I do it. I haven't built the huge direction system for the London Underground but I did actually apply for funding to make that as an installation. 

Something like this is much easier in comparison, even though it was difficult in terms of patience!

At The End Of The Day

No drawing tonight, I am weary. I've spent roughly four hours embroidering a piece that has threatened never to be finished, but I think it probably will. It's hard to be patient, but probably good therapy, or meditation, or something.

What else? Blocking three trolls, which was necessary but depressing. Playing through my set for Saturday's gig supporting Caroline Trettine at The Waiting Room (fingers complaining but working). 

Feeling rueful that a banjo part has a very flat-looking sound wave which will make editing and automation difficult, despite being told how to raise the actual volume. A pancake part is a pancake part, although it sounds lovely. I just want the picture that goes with the sound, that's all.

Apart from that, I didn't do much with the music. I'm waiting for myself, actually. The kitchen will be back in order on Wednesday; there are two more bass contributions to come, and I must re-play some dodgy guitar and contribute my own bass to a song: then it's mixing time!

Interlude

Today, by rights, I should be charging around the village making up for all the not-walking that I haven't done for a week. It's not that I've become slothful, it's just that life's been limited so I've been doing more cerebral things than physical things.

Everyone makes lists, don't they? 

I suspect that everyone doesn't do the things on their lists, too. 

I looked through my diary of personal must-do-this-today orders and shook my head in mock despair. I've done the spaces between the lists instead. 

While clearing out papers and old bills, I found a letter that I wrote to an ex-partner and never sent. Often you don't need to send these missives, because they are about expressing how you feel to yourself rather than communicating those feelings to anyone else. I have also developed a habit of keeping rolls of masking tape, sellotape, gaffa tape and so on that have only about a centimetre of tape left on the roll. I suddenly realised that I could throw away four or five spent rolls of tape that I'd been effectively hoarding for months.

The hardest thing for arty-farty people is the quantity of drawings that you accumulate. I'd meant to set up an Etsy shop this week but became absorbed in other things and didn't. It's something I should really do, as a punishment, perhaps, for being over-productive. Thank God I haven't got a studio! There would be twice as much stuff wallpapering my life. Every time I try to exercise a bit of quality control and throw something away, a little detail winks at me and I have to keep it. For instance, I think I must have about 300 drawings done while listening to Riley and Coe's shows on BBC6. There is something complete about listening to their bantz and the music they play, and choosing a photograph to draw. Even the bad drawings are a record of a particular playlist. I can see the worst one in my mind's eye. Maybe I'll find that one and throw just that one away.

The last drawing that I posted on Instagram was of two portrait artists drawing Adam Blake and Errol Linton's blues band, and a photographer too. The two artists recognised themselves, which is a very weird coincidence. The last time that happened was the bicycle ambulance man in Bloomsbury, who was recognised by another bicycle ambulance man, and who was apparently rather chuffed to have become, in his own words, a 'pin-up'.

I just sat down to say that I've played the nylon-strung guitar for 35 minutes today. That feels like excellent progress and I'll do the same tomorrow before moving on to the electric on Tuesday, which is much more hurty-fingers. It's helping me to learn the words of the new songs too. The urge to burble took over, and now I need to get on with doing nothing. 

Sean McClusky Interviews Terry Edwards

There was a festival in Denmark Street this avo and after a curry with Offsprog Two in Charlotte Street, I headed on down to Regent Sounds to hear Sean interviewing Terry about his 33 1/3 book on Madness' One Step Beyond album. They went through it song by song, and it became apparent that Dave Robinson of Stiff Records had overruled the band on several occasions- possibly because they were so young. I think Terry said that Mark Bedford was only seventeen. All of the band were songwriters- all seven of them- something that I didn't know. 

Something I did know (and it's hearsay, so may not be true) was that the young band used to go to see Brighton's Piranhas play in London a lot. By then, the Piranhas had developed beyond punk and were incorporating a lot of reggae rhythms and humour into their songs. The budding Madness used to beg the Piranhas' manager for a support gig, but he always refused. Eventually, they developed just that raw, humorous and fast-paced punky reggae into a winning formula- and they lived in The Smoke so they were able to build an audience quite quickly. This could be an apocryphal tale, but it's interesting anyway.

There was something quite New York about being in a guitar shop and listening to a musician being interviewed by another musician. Out in the street, musicians dawdled and posed, and other music shops were rammed with bands and audiences.

I wanted a cardamom bun from Buns At Home, but they must have been Instagrammed. The queue snaked down the street. 

Bah! 

I came home and had tomato soup instead.

Work On The House, Work On The Album

Downstairs, the kitchen and bathroom floors are being replaced; upstairs I'm working, editing the songs and working on the artwork for the cover. Hours go past. A friend kindly pointed out that I'd omitted the little first 'c' of McCookerybook in the artwork. When I'd coloured it, I'd been concentrating so hard I'd gone over the faint guidelines I'd written, so luckily there was enough space to fix it.

I tried to play the nylon strung guitar last night but the fingers still said no- quite indignantly, actually. They can have another couple of days- then that's it guys, OK?

The kitchen will sound different with a different floor but I'm quite looking forward to setting up the mic next week to see what transpires.

Meanwhile, audio contributions are gradually being sent in. One of today's was so good it sent shivers up my spine. Regardless of the music, songs, production, and all that there is something about this project that feels exactly right emotionally. I'm not trying to write great songs: the songs have written themselves. It's their fault if they're crap!  And for all I feel sad for the label Tiny Global ceasing to trade (how mortifying to give up such a worthy and eclectic company), because there is nothing but space ahead of me, no route, no railway track, I'm making wild decisions and sticking with them. I'm not thinking about who might play it, who might buy it, or who might review it. It's a bunch of dammed up stories and feelings that are bursting to be expressed and can not be contained. 

I almost forgot to post about the book launch on Tuesday at The Boogaloo in Highgate. Travis Elborough has written a small but perfectly-formed tome on the Philosophy of Vinyl (published by the British Library), and although I am exhausted by listening to the builder work so hard downstairs, I couldn't resist the short tube ride to the occasion. Richard Boon was there, as was Daniel Rachel, Cathi Unsworth, Paul Kelly, various journalists including Helen Barrett (just finishing a book on the Beatles). I believe I saw Emma Tricca in the distance too. 

Travis signed a book, taking a break from deejaying in order to do so. It was fun to be there especially since I'm confined to home in the daytimes. 

The photo shows Travis reading from the book, watched from behind by a sinister-looking Elvis, and from the front by Cathi Unsworth. Maybe Elvis is jealous of Cathi's beautiful hair.

Anyway, that's it for now. Back to arting and musicking.

Drawing And Photographing The Blues Band

 

Editing Vocals

I've begun to edit vocal contributions from people who came to see Joby and the Hooligans in Brighton in 1977. There are more to come, but because everyone's recorded their part themselves, there is a bit of tidying up to do to match them up. I'm taking a break- it's been two hours so far, and my ears and eyes need a rest. It's a good thing to do because when the last few come in I'll be ready to include them.

I do need to replay the guitar part, and that's a case of waiting until my poor sore finger has recovered enough to do it. It's been strapped up very tightly to stop me from moving it, and that seems to be quite an effective way of getting it to mend, but you have to be careful not to start again too early.

If I was feeling mega-reflective I'd wonder if this was a mad thing to do this album, but there are a lot of driving factors contributing to making it. One is the ring-fencing of punk memories as being just 'a London thing' even now, a million years later. Another is the directing by Gisele Pelicot of the blame for terrible things at perpetrators, not survivors of their miscreance. 

Probably most important to me, though, is the autobiographical aspect of it all. I've read a lot of autobiographies and they are fascinating. Is there room for another book? I think not. I do think there is room for a songwriter to write an account of their life in song. Is there poetry in the lyrics, or just nuts-and-bolts description? I can't even tell. All I can say is that there are feelings and memories (and some dark humour) amongst the ups and downs of the narrative.

Back to work in a bit.

Clerkenwell, And Short Films

O Northern Line! Where are you when we need you! A convoluted route took us to the Clerkenwell Festival, which feels more like an open air members-of-bands party than a festival. We missed the Dog Show (oh how I loved last year's lookalike competition, with the sad bulldog and the sad bulldog owner!).

Everyone was in the distance or close-up: I chatted to Ruth Tidmarsh, Peter Momtchiloff and Mike Slocombe, and traded waves and smiles with almost everyone else. We'd missed some of the jumble although I was tempted by an enormous Hawaiian shirt with colourful vinyl records printed all over it, but decided to savour the memory of last year's Cowboy shirt instead.

Everything was running a bit late and I missed Swell Maps' set as I headed over to Hoxton on the bus to the Art 'Otel (awful name) that's built on the grave of that superb pub, The Foundry. Oh, it tries very hard to be hip but ends up being more like Elon Musk's enormous echoing tin bowel. 

It was hosting the Kino Festival of Short Films, and my friend Valerie's son had produced one of them. All of last night's films were under the umbrella of Is This Where I Belong? and were documentaries about displaced people. I don't know how long this link will be active but here they are: https://dice.fm/partner/tickets/event/wwmk6n-kino-london-short-film-festival-where-i-belong-30th-aug-artotel-london-hoxton-london-tickets

They were all very, very different and were incredibly moving. Daniel's film In The Clouds tells the story of a little Iranian girl whose imaginary playmate is an older sister who has perished at sea (you don't discover this until the end of the film). Some of the films were utterly chilling (The Long Spring, about a group of people trafficked in a container, which was based on a true story), some heartwarming (Karim, about a Syrian boy who finally makes friends with a fellow football fanatic in the Netherlands), and some angering (a beautifully-shot film, We're All Black Down Here, about the consequences of racism towards a Caribbean miner in a coal mine in the 1950s). 

In The Clouds was touching, sad and charming in equal measure. Beautiful.

The films had a very deep emotional effect on me and I left feeling the seriousness of the terrible imbalances of power we have as humans. Documentaries are really important: the people who make them spend time thinking about constructing a reality out of an unreal format, film, that conveys the intensity of human situations. Things we see out of the corners of our eyes are brought into full focus so we can't ignore them. 

Strangely, the night before I'd watched Wham! Ten Days In China and there was a very odd disjunction between that and the content of short films- especially knowing what eventually happened to George Michael. Life turns some people into stars and some people into victims of terrible people and terrible circumstances. It's probably best (a) never to compare your circumstances to anyone elses, and (b) enjoy every second you possibly can, because every second matters.

The journey home by tube was populated by people returning from Notting Hill Carnival, many of them very sparkly, and some of them clearly having imbibed a jolly amount of booze.

Nothing to report on the recording front, apart from some fiddly editing in passing this afternoon...

Singing

This morning I woke up determined to manage everything a bit better. My finger is strapped up tightly and I'm not even going to think about it- the main thing was to see if I could get better vocals on some of the tracks.

I did three takes on one of them. When you get to know the song properly you can 'live' the singing while you're doing it, and that has started to happen. I won't listen back again today, I'll leave the different versions to rest for a while.

What made me really happy and optimistic is that there was flexibility in my voice which I thought I'd lost. Simply by standing up to sing, everything changed. I might have to wait ten days before I can do more but there are other things to get on with (that means you, finger: get better!). Full of energy, I started another song- then next door put poor lonely doggy Arfur outside to bark. 

'Arf, Arf, I'm bored, take me for a walk!!' he pleaded.

Oh dear, or rather oh dog.

I did a couple of takes then started to get hoarse. Or horse (sorry).

I'm resting now: time for tea and a read through the day's actual newspapers, the rustling sort that you don't have to scroll through. After that, one more take then furniture moving to prepare for the builder next week.

Finger

Guess who dropped a box of ceramic floor tiles on their finger. 

Looks like it's going to be vocals and editing next week!

Contributions

Today is very much working around the edges, because I've had to pack everything up for a bit. I did some useful editing yesterday (oh what a difference it makes!), but just now I had a go at adding some contributors' stuff to one of the tracks and I got a big lump in my throat. 

It's just the spirit: people have not been beaten down by life, I can hear it, and that is fantastically hopeful .

The overarching psychopathy of global politics is to make people feel powerless, hopeless and small. When you get together with a bunch of fighty people, whether on- or offline, you remember that you are not alone. The Venn diagram of what musicians have in common is sometimes chaotic and illegible- but it's there nonetheless whether overt or symbolic. 

Long live the way we organise our sound and resistance!

Countermetronome

All set up for an early start! Vocals first, or so I thought.

Next door has the builders in. The hammer is thumping a counter-rhythm to the metronome, occasionally punctured by a musical drill that vibrates the floor. 

So it's guitar: headphones on, concentrating on the click and not the thump. I think I got a first take that I won't have to Flextime: it drifts, but in an appropriate way. Doo-dee-doo, dum-dee dum.

The page of notes (blue for what needs to be done, red for when it's done or who needs to do it) looks like a Bayeaux Tapestry of woven scribbled writing.

Shall I do another guitar re-play or move to bass and replace some of those awkwardly-played lines?

First I'll cross out some 'done' tasks.

The Adventures Of Recording At Home

A poor pigeon was wedged next to the bin. I suspect Cowcat (a local Tomcat with Friesian cow markings). I lifted the unfortunate bird into the garden behind a plant pot, and gave it some water to drink.

Then I had to do the housework. The floor was a gritty/sticky combo that was no longer bearable. The vacuum cleaner smells, because it was second hand (environment, etc etc). I discovered that a brand new one would have been the same price; polishing my halo has become tedious as the odours of many student bedrooms permeates the house. Horrible.

Just as I set up to do the vocals, next door's dog Arfur (he barks like this: arf! arf!) started up randomly.

As soon as Arfur stopped barking, a loud fly came in the back door and started Exploring All Areas of the house. 

Zoooom! Into the living room. 

Zooom! Past the microphone. 

Living room again? Yes! Zoooom! 

Microphone! Sure thing! Zoooom!

Why oh why oh why, ad infinitum.

I think my voice is good today now that it's stopped being dry roasted by the heatwave, but I've only managed to sing fragments as the distractions and interruptions pile up. Thunderstorm this afternoon, I believe.

The thing is that on every vocal track there is the sound of the big kitchen clock regularly clanking past the seconds, but I like that: a bit of roughage. I know it's there, but nobody else does. It's these random things that disrupt the serenity.

Nothing else to do now but watch Bargain Hunt.

Later...

No, my voice still has a way to go, but it's better than last week. 

I know that some of my fellow-songwriters have embraced Artificial Intelligence in their songwriting; not even the production, but the songwriting. I can hear it. It's making me feel that I should keep the rough edges in the music I'm making. And have even more clock!

Shoe Shine Man Waits For Customers In The Arcade

 

On Having a Contrary Nature

I lay awake last night thinking about things to come that I'd rather not think about.

I changed the channel.

Today, I planned, I would replay some of the guitar parts on the album and get them sounding different. But craposo- they didn't sound any good. It wasn't even that my fingers wouldn't do as they were told; I wasn't in the mood, after spending half the night getting in the mood. I was sabotaging my own self!

Instead, I decided to sing. Normally singers don't do mornings, but I managed an OK vocal on one song, then another. Then another. Dammit. I'd been saving vocals till last!

The album has done what albums always do: it has taken on a life of its own and started dictating what it wants no matter what decisions I think I'm making.

I've thrown a real wild card in at the end. Let's see what happens.

Glasgow Gig 12th Thursday November

I'll be playing an all-new set of songs, The Darkside Truth, about the early days of punk. 

Support from Glaswegian songwriter and music entrepreneur Lorraine Lucas

Tickets: https://wegottickets.com/f/26674

Back Through The Mists Of Time

Years and years and years and years ago... Lester Square and me organised what we called Music Halls, but what were really Music Free For Alls (time limit ten minutes to avoid boring acts). we put one on at the London Musicians Collective in Camden with free sausages and rough cider, raising money for the London Lighthouse Aids Hospice. 

The following year, we took 30 people up to the Edinburgh Fringe to perform at the Rifle Lodge. Bloody hell, it was fun! Often, there were more people in the cast than there were in the audience. We had Dada poetry, members of the band Furniture as a big band playing interval music, Lester Square as an MC, Carmen Miranda Tribute act, a Women's Health and Beauty tribute act, a clarinet act, a play about a Marine Biologist condensed from an hour into ten minutes, and more. Dry ice! I dressed in tap shoes and galloped around on a plywood horse with moveable legs singing a fake music hall song called She's A Girl Who Likes To Have A Horse Between Her Legs ('she's a rotter to that trotter, she's a stinker to that steed').

Lester Square sent me these photos the other day, some from each one, I think. Some of the cast slept in layers on the floor of McMum and McDad's flat, some at Lester's sister's (it had just burnt out a few days before, so those people smelled of smoke) and some in an old Post Office van. 

Woven Together, Ortus Gallery, Camberwell

This is a small but perfectly formed exhibition of textile works by artists from the Bethlem Gallery. Stars of the show are a denim jacket with custom patches made by individual members of the workshop group, a black leather jacket with a beautifully painted back, and this crocheted map of the Bethlem Hospital grounds in Sydenham. The gallery has regular exhibitions at its Sydenham site, but these examples are on view in Camberwell in the gallery/café just behind the Maudsley hospital. I found them to be quite inspirational. Offsprog One has been involved in setting this up, and it's great to see it up and running!

Thanks To Loud Women

Thank you Loud Women for 'seeing' me, or maybe that should be 'hearing' me. I am loud in my head and in my heart!

https://loudwomen.org/2026/08/20/rebellion-2026-saturday-highlights/

'Helen McCookerybook on the Almost Acoustic stage on Saturday, bringing decades of DIY music history into a setting made for songs and stories rather than sheer volume.

From punk beginnings to a long solo catalogue, she is a reminder that the history of women in independent music is much wider than the names that usually get repeated. A quietly essential Rebellion booking.'

Photo by Jeanie Jean

Part Of A Huge Film Crew, Denmark Street, London

 

Lost Doll In The Weeds

 

Dammit

Arfur, next door's barky dog (Arf! Arf!) has just given up his morning barkfest; now the builders have started up over the road with their whining drills and clanging hammers.

What's a girl to do, trying to home-record vocals this week?

Actually, I've already been playing guitar and bass this morning and I'm resting the track to see what it sounds like before doing anything else to it. It's a song that was sounding turgid, so I upped the BPMs by ten and it has come to life. Playing bass has made my back ache: it must use muscles that are normally dormant. It's very tempting to start up drumming classes again because I think that's a similar area of the body, muscle-wise.

I've just arranged to have Gran's banjo looked at. It has no bridge and I'd rather get one from the correct era put on it if at all possible. The repair man sounded excited. That's the sort of repair man you need!

Bathtime For Robin

The Robin hasn't been around for a long time, but just now it was having a drink in the water that I put out for thirsty birds. It was looking a bit bedraggled, scruffy and dusty; sure enough, it took the plunge and had a jolly splash about for about ten minutes. I kept thinking it had finished, and then it jumped in again. By the time it had finished, it was glossy and sleek: it shook the drops off its feathers and flew off.

Next thing I knew a large Wood Pigeon decided to copy it, and smashed a plant pot full of thyme on the concrete of the yard. 

O the small garden dramas of bird life!

Mini-review Of Rebellion Songs

A vote of confidence for my new songs from Gary Trueman at www.devolutionmagazine.co.uk 'Helen McCookerybook wins the room over with her beautiful voice and brave, deeply personal songwriting. Tackling serious themes with pure heart and soul' Just what I need to hear today!

Mindlessness

I've invented a new thing: mindlessness.

It's the opposite of mindfulness, and much, much more relaxing. 

Playing Bass

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

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

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

Skiving

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

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

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

Thoughts On Recording

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

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

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

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

Man Walks Past Ronnie Rude In Blackpool

 

From the High Tide Festival Twickenham, A Few Weeks Ago

 

Blackpool Street Trader Sells Fluffy Little Things On Sticks

 

Rebellion 2026, Sunday

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

Bang! It was a great start to the day!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rebellion 2026, Saturday

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

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

Kettle? No. 

Working TV remote? No. 

Waste-paper bin? No. 

Wi fi? No.

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

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

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

That's enough philosophy for the day. 

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

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

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

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

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

Bandcamp Friday

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

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

Changing Gear

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

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

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

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

What else?

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

Woman With Nasty Little Dog In Pushchair

 

Dessicated Slug

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

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

Dog's Pawprint In the Sand

 

From Last Sunday At The High Tide Festival In Twickenham

 

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

Almost Acoustic at Rebellion Punk Festival

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

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

She-Punks: The Origin Of The Name

In 2015, Gina and me were chatting about my book The Lost Women of Rock Music and a film she was in the process of making about The Raincoats. Gina had shot extra footage of many of the women she'd interviewed, and we talked about maybe collaborating on a DIY film loosely based on that footage and possibly more interviews with the musicians I'd spoken to for the original book.

I'd been teaching entrepreneurship at the University of East London and as quite often happened when I was lecturing, I decided to put into practice what I'd been preaching.

'Let's go to see Andy Linehan at the British Library and ask him if he'll show our film'.

Andy was the music librarian there. Very sadly, he died a few years ago: this was a great loss because not only was he very funny, but he was also brave enough to take a punt on an idea. He told us that in 2016 the British Library would be celebrating the 40th anniversary of punk, and he'd be prepared to show even 20 minutes of film and build an evening around it. In fact, we were the first event he booked for the week of celebrations.

All he needed was a name for the documentary. We went off, started arranging interviews with people straight away, and I came up with the title, 'Stories from the She-Punks: music with a different agenda'. 

Lots of the women I'd spoken to about their bands mentioned how much they hated the term 'punkette', which diminished them so much. Zillah Ashworth (also a woman punk documentarian) and Caroline Coon (the respected rock music writer) recommended Dale Spender's book Man Made Language, and there everything was laid out really clearly. 

My own problem was wo-man and fe-male. I'd tried 'Lady Punks' for a book chapter I'd written, but that felt really clunky. She-Punks was perfect, and I also had the possibly rather grating 'a-gender' part of the title.

I wrote to Andy with the title; both Gina and Andy thought it was great, and over the next six months we made our very DIY film. 

Here's the original blurb from the British Library website in 2016: https://web.archive.org/web/20201108112648/https://www.bl.uk/events/stories-from-the-she-punks

The screening was terrific: the auditorium was full, the reception was brilliant and we ended with a quickly put-together cover version of Oh Bondage! Up Yours, with Terry Tyldesley, Tessa Pollitt, Jane Perry Woodgate, Zoe Howe, Karina Townsend, Gina and me- and the audience. Here it is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5NrFckg-WAA&t=19s

The film features Vivien Goldman, Shanne Bradley. Jane Perry Woodgate, Enid Williams, Lucy O'Brien, Ana Da Silva, Viv Albertine, Palmolive, Liz Naylor, Hester Smith, Rachel Lovell, Lesley Woods, Jane Munro, June Miles-Kingston, Gaye Black, Gina Birch, Karen Gymslip, Trash from the Ettes, me and more.

Thanks to Gina for suggesting the name Up Yours! Collective to an organisation formed to celebrate Poly Styrene's legacy.

Here is the film- now public: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zki9nj8tjZA

Posh Loo In Posh Shopping Centre

I went to the posh loo in a posh shopping centre. There were recordings of a forest with birds singing, and trees swishing in a gentle breeze. It did smell rather horrible in there, though.

The conveniences themselves had fancy hard translucent pink seats for hygiene (they said). I lifted the seat and a fly flew out of the bowl.

Later, when I went to wash my hands, the cleaner was trimming the bristles of the tattered broom she'd been using to sweep up, holding it over the bin to give it a haircut. Now that, I thought, was very sweet.

Harlequin at London Bridge

 

Hare

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

Caroline Trettine's Album Launch 12th September

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

The 'Song From The Kitchen' That Didn't Happen

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!

The Morning After The Night Before, Newcastle

 

Seasonal Song

 

Drawing A Poster

 

Sheffield, Halifax and Home

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!