With Pauline Murray in Brighton Tomorrow (and London on Sunday)

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

Gaye Black and Stories from the She-Punks at The John Peel Centre

Photos: with Foolish Girl at the exhibition curated by Gaye; Eric Waring, Gaye and Nick Jepson at the exhibition; The Undertones' first single, John Peel's copy (brought by Sheila Ravenscroft); with my prints of Poly, Tina Weymouth, Neil Young and Ari Upp; interviewing Gaye about her art, her art curation and her activism; playing the next night to a UK Subs-fan heavy audience and surviving; Charlie Harper with the fabulous Yuko on rhythm guitar.

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.

John Peel Centre This Week

 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.

Who's coming to the John Peel Centre in Stowmarket on Wednesday?

I'll be supporting Charlie Harper there (UK Subs) after interviewing him about his autobiography.

The Royal Festival Hall, London

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.

Thursday Round-up

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!

At The John Peel Centre Next Week

 

Woman Yawning At The Cheese Stall

 

Man Enjoys Sun, Whitby

 

James Ian McCallum, Left A Year Ago Today

 

Man With Berimbau

 

Theremin at Jack White's Art Exhibition

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.

Fringe Arts Bath

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.

Ugh 4U!

 

Station Staff

 

Drawing Book

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.

Woman Photographs Dried Fish in Valencia

 

Boiling in Barnet

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.

Couple With Vintage Morris WIP

 

And The Bloody Thing Just Lay There And Did Nothing To Help!

 

What they don't tell you at the time.

Whistler at Tate Britain

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.

Helen and the Horns on Pebble Mill at One

 Helen and the Horns on Pebble Mill at One. We never got on Top of the Pops, but Pebble Mill was just as cool: everyone watched it. 

We were terrified.

Riposte

 https://helenmccookerybook.bandcamp.com/track/the-sea

Beach Seller, Valencia

 

In June At The John Peel Centre In Stowmarket

 

Delete Junk

I think I might be about to ditch another song. It was to be the last one, but the last song on the last album didn't attract any attention at all, and I don't want a 'disappearing back' on this album. I will give it a bit of time to see what else turns up.

Not much progress was made today apart from a bit of re-familiarisation with Logic.  I'm not sure if I'm getting better at stuff, or just more critical of what I'm doing: it's hard to tell.

The problem with not much recording progress today is that the whole house need to be cleaned, and I don't want to do it!

Woman with Flower Stall

 

Book Talk, Picture Delivery And Recording

Yesterday evening I went to a book talk by Matt Worley, with Cathi Unsworth and Paul Morley also on the panel. They were promoting Matt's book, No Future which is being republished to coincide with the 50th anniversary of punk. There were a lot of 50- and 60-something white chaps in big black coats, with a smattering of women, including Liz Naylor, who Matt interviewed for the book. Liz is always wonderfully blunt and truthful, and she drew the conversation towards Manchester, where it was generally acknowledged that Richard Boon is the unsung hero of that city. It was an interesting panel of three writers, each of whom has a different approach to punk. Matt reminded us that he was six or seven at the time, and his major lightbulb moment came when he saw Adam and the Ants on Top of the Pops; Paul Morley recalled going to see The Sex Pistols in Wolverhampton on a specially-hired coach. Cathi, who has written extensively on the Goth subculture, talked about outsider groups and their creativity, and a recent meeting with young people who had totally rejected the internet and were making old-school fanzines the traditional way.

At some points I wanted to shout out- the Buzzcocks' guitar solo in Boredom was two notes, not one, for instance: but I breathed deeply and absorbed it all. The idea of the virtue signalling associated with Live Aid was very pertinent, and the general awareness of the panel that they might be glossing over some of the more unsavoury parts of punk. I think having just massively edited the article on reggae and women punks recently, I was primed for a fight, but I managed to not. It was actually very interesting, particularly when a member of the audience wondered why nobody in the media was making any noise about the anniversary. Do you think punk was much less important than those of us who were involved in it think? Was it just one little tadpole in the giant river of culture?

Afterwards, I had a quick chat with Daniel Rachel, who has recently published a book on the swastika, nazi imagery and rock'n'roll which definitely fills a gap on the bookshelves; it's just been one of those things that people mutter beneath their breath so it's good to turn the stone over and see what's underneath it. Travis Elborough was also there just finishing a book about vinyl records, and I'm looking forward to that being published in September. Roll on Zoe Howe's republished The Story of The Slits, too!

This morning, I took four framed prints over to Gaye Black in West London for the exhibition at the John Peel Centre in Stowmarket in June. Gaye herself, Pauline Murray, Charlie Harper and Youth are also exhibiting (and more people). My drawings are of Ari, Poly, Tina Weymouth and Neil Young, the odd-one-out that's included because it's one of my best drawings. Gaye showed me the collages she's exhibiting, and also the poster that she has made for Celeste Bell's Queens of Punk event at Camden Art Centre (we think in August), where the She-Punks film will also be shown.

I've finished re-recording the demo that was at the wrong tempo. At least that's not going to keep me awake tonight.

Matt's book: https://www.waterstones.com/book/no-future-anniversary-edition/matthew-worley/paul-morley/9781009661287

Daniel's book: https://www.waterstones.com/book/this-aint-rock-n-roll/daniel-rachel/9781399635721

A Tempo Thing

I thought the song was far too fast, especially as it's bumped itself up to the possible opening track. I played along to the metronome at 96 BPM and it sounded fine... then I listened to the original this morning at 110 BPM and it sounded so perky and fresh. What a dilemma! My hands have cramped up anyway this morning, so there's nothing that I can do about it at the moment.

Oh, these times: everyone is convinced that everyone else is an idiot who simply doesn't understand what the clever, in-the-know people understand. I had a really interesting conversation with a chap on Wednesday last week when I went to deliver the little horse; it was very intense for a chilly Wednesday in the basement of a coffee shop. But he was much-travelled, and I told him that although I'm not so well-travelled myself, I don't feel as though I belong anywhere. I'm culturally stateless, which at times has felt like a problem but at the present moment feels like a blessing. I literally feel as though I have no identity at all, which is quite weird in a time of such intense identity politics. The thing is, endless creativity helps to ameliorate this problem. I can not see or feel 'me', but I can make things and write things that prove that I exist.

He liked the idea of that, and described it back to me as 'floating' which is exactly how it feels. This may also be the reason why I've been prey to a lot of manipulative people in the past- but also to how it's been possible to escape from their grasp. I sit at home and wait for 'myself' to arrive, which rarely happens unless I'm drawing, playing guitar or singing: at that point everything whooshes into my head and body, and I feel a total sense of concentration and calm. 

It's probably akin to meditation, isn't it? The only problem is that in formal meditation sessions it's always been impossible to get the shopping list out of my head; visualising all those packets with their colourful branding and maybe even their merry little jingles from the TV ads, that's what slips in as the drony voice of the meditation person tells us all to relax... 

DON'T DO IT, WHEN YOU WANT TO GET TO IT! 

See what I mean?

While writing this, I think I've decided to take the middle path and go for 100 BPM, which should be playable and still have the requisite amount of energy. On someone's social media posting the other day I saw a term that perfectly describes this current music, so I've filed that in my head for the future.

Of course, lots has happened this weekend; all I will say is that it was really enjoyable watching differently-garbed hen parties filing into Leicester Square from various directions and meeting in the middle, dressed in the white, the pink, the black, some sparkling, some not. It was charming seeing them acknowledging each other from near and afar. Bless their marabou bunny-ears!

More Pruning of Words, and Self-Doubt Sets In

After another hour, I've managed to get the article down to less than 6000 words, which feels like a miracle. Tomorrow after a read-through I'll send it to the editor to see what she thinks: it's cross-referencing within a written piece that can catch you out. Me out. You know what I mean. 

Meanwhile, I've reached the self-doubt stage of recording. Everything is very rough and I have to decide how smoove to make it. I've not been caring what people might think and now I realise that you have to, otherwise people won't listen. It's the musician's nightmare, to release music to an audience with their hands over their ears!

Anyway I have to drop off my little clay horsy now. I hope to get some better guitar parts down over the next couple of days and one of the things that will help that is re-stringing my guitar. Ouch.

Man Directs Traffic, Rothesay Ferry

 

A Tidy Mess

I spent much of this morning working on editing the academic article that needs to be converted from a (more than) 8000-word previously published academic journal submission, into a 5000-word book chapter. I've managed to get it down to just over 6000 words, using a complete slash and burn mentality. I think if I can lose another 500 words from the main thing, editing down the bibliography with its leaner list of sources should bring me into a reasonable word limit. It's definitely a morning-brain activity and has taken a surprisingly long time. I've given up being grumpy about not being paid and it being too late to affect my CV and have just got into the craft of it all, which was perhaps inevitable.

Dispiritedly, I sat down at the computer and started to work on my album. But I managed to finish a song that I started the other day and quite unbelievably, write and record a whole other one. They are so rough around the edges, and one of them probably needs to be zeroed and re-started, but I've just put them into a narrative order and they do make sense both lyrically and musically. Now I need to do a hell of a lot of guitar rehearsing (they are so difficult to play) and a lot of singing too, because my voice is rather raspy because of the quantity of pollen in the air.

I have to pack up Hors D'Hoovers now because he's going to Fringe Arts Bath to be exhibited and I've got to drop him off with the curator tomorrow lunch time. I didn't realise he'd be accepted. He's delighted and can't stop whinnying, which is definitely preferable to the dog next door yapping in the garden.

Man In Tweed Suit on Tube, London

 

Five Thousand Emails

Over the past ten days I've deleted five thousand emails because the service provider threatened to bounce-back future emails if I didn't.

It felt like clearing out the attic, or throwing away redundant photographs. It was also a revelation; there were situations that I thought I'd imagined that were clearly laid out in email chains, and a clear 'guilty' verdict for a person who'd claimed that I short-changed them emotionally. 

I couldn't delete emails from McDad, my brother James, nor from Ari or Poly Styrene. For some reason that seemed a step too far. 

I still should get rid of more of them- I've only got to the letter 'E' in the alphabet (I became more methodical after realising the sheer weight of numbers that I needed to plough through).

In a similar fashion, I've been having a slash'n'burn clear-out of clothing that I've kept since I was in my twenties and thirties, the trousers laughing at me as I struggled to get into them. They have become breeding grounds for moths, who then proceed to eat their way through newer clothes. It's not so much the body size that I feel nostalgic about, but more the sense of style that I once had. I literally didn't care what anyone else was wearing, I would strut around in a drape suit and brothel creepers when floaty dresses were de rigeur. 

I have got a floaty dress or two nowadays but I draw the line at pussy-bows (how Thatcher!!!) and ruched necklines that make me feel as though my head is going to fall off even when I just look at them. 

Three cheers for trousers! Marvellous things!

Thirty Seven Minutes

I've only managed 37 minutes of recording today. I'd practiced the guitar part earlier on; it's very hard because it involves hammering-on with my left pinky which is double-jointed, and I have to send the brain signal to it every time I use it: 'Do not bend in the wrong direction!'. I'm getting the hang of it, and thought it was worth recording the clumsy riff just so it feels as though I've achieved something today.

Alas, next door's yappy dog started yapping in a chaotic counter-rhythm as soon as I pressed 'record', and although it's stopped now, I've been thrown off my stride by the disruption. It barks at the squirrel, which seems to enjoy baiting the dog when it's not nicking the bird seed from my back yard. Oh, the adventures!

Today's song has worried me because I think I've gone Ordinary. Quite often, bands and artists that I like Go Ordinary and then I don't like them any more. I had to get off the bus three stops early this morning because it wasn't coming all the way up the hill, and while I was walking to the next bus stop, I hit on a plan to de-Ordinarify this song. I can't do that until I finish the lyrics, which are Not Good Enough. 

As you can see, there are a lot of things I need to work on with this one, but it's actually quite thrilling to have a challenge. I know I can't rush it, but I need to work it when I can. The weekend and a lot of next week are going to be jammed up with life's practicalities so I'll have to work round the edges of all that. To me that's normal, after doing a PhD/holding down a job/being a mum. 

Those times when I go away to start a project in my head, oh what a luxury that is!

Anyway. I think I'll listen to yesterday's song, put away the guitar (guitar leads are a trip hazard in a small kitchen) and watch TV this evening. What's on?

Fringe Arts Bath 1

Gisele Pelicot, the Girl Guide we all need, is about to be framed and sent to FaB (Fringe Arts Bath) to be exhibited there.
Many thanks to @chloesavageartist and @katarina_orolinova_art for choosing her!
22nd May to 6th June
https://www.fringeartsbath.co.uk/

On The Golden Hinde

I'm delighted to be supporting Pauline Murray on Sunday 14th June at the Golden Hinde, a ship moored on the River Thames not far from London Bridge. What an amazing venue!

Tickets here: https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/pauline-murray-penetration-helen-mccookerybook-live-on-the-golden-hinde-tickets-1984895127759

Window Cleaner, Charity Shop

 

Weirdness, and Practicality

I had an old-fashioned deadline to revise an academic article in order for it to become a book chapter, which was OK until I learned that I'd need to edit out 3000 words. It's in PDF format, almost impossible to change without conversion software, and I don't even have an up-to-date version of Word any more. I respectfully wrote to the editors yesterday saying that I would not be able to do it; I also no longer have any sort of institutional support. This morning, they offered me a person to help- so it will happen. 

Clunky ancient laptop on the point of dying, I'm dependin' on you son.

I shouldn't be procrastinating at this point but actually I'm taking a breather. I listened to yesterday's song and I'm actually jealous of it! How stupid is that? But it just came rolling out like a steam train. In my night time song terrors, I decided the song that it sounds like is too similar (it's not, really), and that I should revise the original one. This is not a bad thing. I started to write another song today, mostly words with just air where the music should be, so I'm taking that out with me for a walk this afternoon to see what happens.

I'm agitated because of the local elections. There has never been a political party that aligns with what I believe, so I've always voted for the people that I think will work for people who most need to be noticed and helped. This time around, it is hard to see which party this is. All of them are making a noise, and none of the noises are music to my ears. What is most exhausting is the assumptions and declarations made by people in power about what people with left-wing politics believe. This is often infuriating. I think I have probably been braver in challenging unfairness in workplaces and other situations than many of those politicians who have been surrounded by support for their whole lives. There is no point in broadcasting this fact here or anywhere else; it is private information that the internet would love to have so it can twist it and turn it and make it come out bad. Sanctimony is not a good look, and one party lost my vote in one fell swoop this week, because of just that.

So it's time for a last visit to academic writing, which I'd call slow politics. It feels like planting a root for future solidity, good for the soul if not for the bank balance. After tomorrow's inevitable horrors, I feel that the engine of life will start revving again. This weekend I will be making a pineapple upside-down cake for Offsprog Two's birthday complete with glacé cherries in the middle of the pineapple rings. I can't find Angelica unfortunately, so the lurid 1970s elements will be a mite turned down, but I don't think that will matter too much.

No Mow May

I found myself with the responsibility of a huge lawn; I had to sell the house and if it had been up to me I would have left it to grow into a lovely meadow, but house-buyers in the 'burbs like 'neat and tidy'. It was exasperating to have to decapitate all the little flowers every weekend. One Friday morning I went out there and this song showed up in my head to explain how I felt:

https://helenmccookerybook.bandcamp.com/track/daisies

Rock on, No Mow May!

Man With Gigantic Plant At Tube Station

 

Twangling

I've had another one of those days where it's literally taken all day to be able to play the guitar part even semi-correctly. I simply couldn't work out what was going wrong. I doubled the BPMs, halved them, doubled them, went out for a walk. When I got back, I speeded the metronome up by five beats per minute and voila! I could play it well enough to sing over.

The only problem is that it sounds extremely similar to one of the other songs, but that might actually be quite a nice challenge to overcome because it's nothing to do with fingers. But its a whole song, and the other one's only half a song at the moment, so let's see.

Someone knocked at the door yesterday and I was sure it was a Liberal Democrat, but it wasn't: it was a Jehova's Witness, all clad in pale brown and embarrassed. 

I was expecting a delivery (I've ordered a Carlton and his Shoes LP), so the next time someone knocked I thought it would be Royal Male (that's what I'll call him, even though he's too normal to be regal). Nope: it was the Liberal Democrats. 

It's all go in High Barnet, I tell you! 

I've folded up the laptop and wrapped the microphone in its sleeping-cloth. That was enough recording for one day; now it's quiz-show-avoidance time. I know somewhere in the world a lot of people like quizzes but they're keeping quiet about it, rather like (I suspect) Liberal Democrats.

Music Of All Sorts, At All Times

With Holly Cook's lovely voice still ringing in my ears, it was back to Camden on Friday for Gina Birch's concert at The Electric Ballroom. It's an infinitely nicer venue than it used to be, much sparklier and airier.

Mike, Gina's partner, was already busy at the merch stall, and much to my surprise my ex-husband's former law college friend Nick was there, now tour managing the whole Gina Birch/Lesley Woods tour.

After a quick chat to Simon Bazalgette (it was one of those 'everybody's here' nights), Lily Wolter (replacing Marie) and Jenny Green appeared on the stage, closely followed by Gina.

There followed a majestic set of songs re-worked to shake off the heavy reverbs of the album track production, refreshed and with entirely new dynamics. I have seen Gina play countless times, and this was definitely the best. She was confident, committed, and in excellent voice despite telling us that her Mum had just hours to live. There was no self-deprecation: just pure, powerful music that had the crowd in raptures. I Play My Bass Loud was especially strong, as were Feminist Song and Live Forever. The whole set was fascinating musically, listening out for what has changed and what has been consolidated: the sound of the night was the closer to Gina's original song demos than it has ever been. Absolutely brilliant. This was the last date of a tour that sounds as though it has probably been one of the most fulfilling periods in Gina's life.

Afterwards, I had a lovely chat about harmonies and other things with Charley Stone, Miki Beryeni, Kat Five, and a quick hello to Jerry Thackray, who I'll catch up with in Brighton when I support Pauline Murray there next month. I missed Lesley's set, although I heard from Gina that the band play really well, which isn't surprising given that they have Estella Adeyeri on bass.

This afternoon's musical offering was entirely different: two community choirs in Brockwell Park in their community greenhouse area. The Dulwich Folk Choir has been put together by Aimée Leonard, an Orcadian woman who collects 'lost' songs and shares them with a non-auditioned, non gender specific choir who clearly love what they do. They were crisp and well rehearsed, and sang so beautifully that the park blackbird couldn't resist joining in. It was a lovely moment. They were followed by The Carnegie Library Hub Choir, whose repertoire was more varied and complex, including South African songs. They sang heartily, even though only half of the regulars were there. Unmediated voices in the sunshine: what an absolute luxury for the ears.

In the garden there were beehives humming with bees, and a greenhouse full of spectacular cacti and succulents, drunk on happiness and wellbeing. Through the opening of a small, high shed, I could see an elderly man of Caribbean heritage proudly arranging scores of small plastic plant pots, a critique on the lack of sustainability in some gardening practices. 

We ate nectarine cake and thought it was going to rain (it didn't). I came home with a small tomato plant and a pot of sempervivums to insert into my tiny back yard. 

Within two days, I've experienced two musical events at polar opposites of the spectrum of what humans can do with their voices; they were both mesmerising in utterly different ways. What a wonderful world we inhabit, despite the cold cruelty of the people who would like to ruin it for us. It's going to be very hard to vote on Thursday choosing between bad people and bad people and bad people. I would like to vote for the Green Party, but up here they are literally knitted and crocheted, and seem terribly feeble in their crocs. I wish there was a wholesome version of testosterone that could power us into a kinder world where people didn't weaponise religion and heritage and make wars out of it all. If I was God, I'd send all the arms manufacturers and their 'hardware' into deep space in one of Elon's manrockets and tell them not to come home to Earth ever again. But I'm not. I wish I was.

Bandcamp Friday Bargain

 #Bandcampfriday #vinyl 7# EP to £5.00

Reduced for this weekend only. Digital version also available.

Cover versions of four songs by The Chefs by original members James McCallum and yours truly

https://helenmccookerybook.bandcamp.com/album/the-pop-up-chefs-ep

Also

A few years ago, Joly McFie from Better Badges (I used to work for them back in the day) got in touch with me because he thought I should offer this song to Hollie. I did, and she was very nice about it but pointed out that she already had a song-writing team to collaborate with. 

A near miss! Perhaps I should change my name to 'Near Miss Helen' instead of Dr Helen. 

Now there's a thought.

https://soundcloud.com/mccookerybook/3-steal-you-away

Hollie Cook at The Jazz Café

Hollie used to sing with the New Slits; she was part of Ari's musical collective, and lived the surreal onstage fun of that band with a hundred percent commitment. It was wonderful to hear her own music being played by Riley and Coe on their BBC6 show, and I bought her vinyl album straight away.

Alas, her next gig was in the deep south of London- buses and unreliable train services from the cold north meant that it looked like a dodgy journey and I didn't go. How wonderful to see her at the Jazz Caff, a mere stone's throw down the road.

I went stupidly early but that gave me a chance to listen to the reggae tracks being played beforehand. What fantastic production! Some of the music was so old-skool you could hear where the volume knobs on the mixing desk had been physically turned up and down to control the dynamics of the guitar-playing. The endless appeal of reggae is the way the instruments talk to each other across space; rather than putting together an instrumental arrangement and mixing it afterwards, it's almost as though the space is respected first, and then the music appears as an afterthought, assembled around the space to show off its beauty. 

I was Shazzaming like crazy, although I did recognise Carlton And His Shoes. There's something about the ultra-diction in the way he sings, and also the way the music is so casual it sounds as though it's almost falling apart: I wonder if there are any albums of their stuff. As the playlist moved on to Lover's Rock, it was apparent that the production values are completely different in the Jamaican versions of that music genre (although not the English tracks produced by Dennis Bovell, for instance). The instrumentation is much more clustered-together, and in the case of Susan Cadogan's Hurts So Good, the sound is positively mushy. It was Pete Waterman who 'broke' Hurts So Good, thus kick-starting his career. 

There was one track played earlier on where the horn section was so woefully out of tune with the rest of the track that I looked at the DJ as though he could have done something about it, before realising that of course, he couldn't!

In itself, the first part of the evening was very listenable; those roots reggae tracks are so beautifully sonically crafted, although in more than a few of them women don't get off lightly. Awful beings, aren't we?

Not Hollie, though! As soon as she came on to the stage, she brought her own atmosphere and her own aesthetic to the evening. As her set progressed, the appeal of her singing voice became more and more apparent. She has that rare thing: an utterly unaffected delivery. No vocal fry (urgh, I hate it!), no vibrato, no swoopings or cooing 'sexy' breathiness (those copious music degrees stuffed with ancient jazz fellers have a lot to answer for). She sounds like herself: pitch-perfect, fresh and confident.

Being a long-term fan of Lovers' Rock singers like Carroll Thompson and Janet Kay (whose voices I also love) could make me hyper-critical of a new singer on the block, but she really is a fabulous performer. I was trying to think of a way to describe her vocal timbre, and all I could think of is that it's the sound of sunshine. Her voice works an instrument that fits perfectly into the very well-rehearsed reggae band she has. The band is notably good, especially the backing vocals performed in perfect falsettos by the keyboard player and the guitarist. The only other man who I've seen do this so perfectly and unobtrusively is Rachel Love's keyboard player from her band the Loveables. Like his, their vocal tones were gentle, neat and completely in tune. The trombone player was also very good (trombones are definitely having a moment- Laetitia Sadier was playing one with Stereolab a couple of months ago). A well-played trombone is like a friend who exaggerates: over perky at times, over lachrymose at others. It was nice that he didn't dominate the music; he was essential to the sound but he didn't overplay. 

All I can say is- buy the record! The only thing I didn't like was the packedness of the venue and it's inevitable braying young men who thought what they had to say in loud hooting voices was more important than the music. Some of them also thought pushing through the crowd with hands full of drinks was what the evening was all about. It wasn't. Stay at home next time.

What else? Hollie's parents were there in the scrum listening intently, and I think I spotted Paul Weller, although it could have been his doppelganger, Saul.

A lot of female singers could learn from Hollie's complete unaffectedness. She smiles, she is charming, but she is also guileless. It's probably a blessing that she isn't as famous as she should be. Voices like hers are extremely rare, and it felt like a complete privilege to be able to listen to her at such close quarters. Rock royalty in the making!

 

Interview with Israel Sanchez Fuster, from Valencia

 https://www.ivoox.com/en/cactus-radiozine-27-abril-2026-helen-mccookerybook-audios-mp3_rf_172501927_1.html

Sour Things. A Bored Musician Writes.

I've stopped recording for a bit. I am thinking instead; all the dross that would have been passing through my mind while I was concentrating on playing my guitar has surfaced, and is taxing my thoughts.

There are two sour things that people like; I'm not sure which is which, but they do both begin with the letter 'K': kimchi and kefir.

I don't even like yogurt (what's the difference between yogurt and sour milk?) but I don't mind some sour things. It's just that these two sour things beginning with 'K' are relatively new, and seem to exist in order to encourage us to feel as though we are one of the in-crowd.

A neighbour gave me a tumbler of the milk-based K-thing, which was apparently a culture. She was very good about the fact that I didn't like it, actually. But why would I want to put sour milk in the fridge? I know there are things about gut health, but if you don't eat horrible food, surely your gut will be healthy anyway without putting sour things into it.

The other thing is a cabbagey thing which I had once as part of a vegan meal. Some vegan food is lovely, but this particular meal felt like a punishment. Round and round the plate I went, trying to find something that wasn't tart. I was starving. I tried combos of one thing and another: maybe this plus that would equal 'nice to eat'. But nothing worked. 

Luckily, these things go out of fashion fairly quickly. I'm waiting for sourdough bread to go out of fashion too. It doesn't seem possible to buy anything else at the moment. I don't mind it sometimes, but it is a bit like eating a nylon bath sponge with a leather crust; an interesting experience, but not quite as nice as a good stodgy malted granary that sheds seeds all over the kitchen.

Speaking of which, I've just found a small ant on my nose.

A Day Of The Opposite

Yesterday I started recording in the morning, and somehow missed the time I was supposed to go swimming. I belatedly went on my way; it was cold and grey, and despite knowing that the pool would be nice and empty because other people would be put off by the weather too, I turned back and resumed what I was doing.

One of the guitar parts was so bloody difficult it was causing me loads of stress; I still haven't got it right, but that's because it's a new way of playing and my fingers are annoyed with me for introducing something they're unfamiliar with.

For most of the rest of the day, I felt terrible because I hadn't done the weekly swim, but at the mid-afternoon point my recording energy was exhausted, and I listened back to what I'd done.

Instead of a waste of time, the day had been surprisingly productive. When you have to drive yourself, it's difficult to pitch the pressure at the correct level. The deep concentration worked, and despite the clumsy playing and some 'off' lyrics, there is plenty to work with. 

I feel that this particular set of songs has been inside me for years. Most things that I write have an element of introspection in them, even the songs that seem casual, but these songs say things that have been buried for a very long time, and make sense of a lot of other parts of my life. I'm in them, but also watching them from a vantage point.

Next, lots of guitar part practising to get the feels right- and lots of walking and thinking to get the words right. In the end the day turned out to be the opposite of what I'd felt it was.

Ari, Unfinished

 

Ears Rest

Gah! Gah! Command save!

I've got Driving Test-itis this morning. I failed four tests before understanding that I was fine until I thought 'I haven't made my mistake yet' and then made my mistake and failed. At the fifth one, I tricked my brain and managed to pass, despite the fact that I was nine months pregnant with Offsprog Two.

I've been recording guitar, and making a mistake every time I've been waiting for a mistake.

I've realised that what I hate about studios is constantly making mistakes in front of the engineer, who then gets further and further into the realms of passive-aggressive 'patience', which of course makes the playing get even worse.

Remedy? You have to know what you're doing before you get there.

At the kitchen table, I've been trying to play something that I can't play well enough yet, and expecting it to record well. Being your own engineer, you are able to blame yourself thoroughly for all this.

The other important thing is that the more you play something, the better the feel is. Even when I've played it correctly (I have), the feel is wooden and clumpy. Oh, I still have such a lot to learn, old thing that I am!

St Trinians Girls

 

Coming Up

 

June 10th John Peel Centre https://johnpeelcentre.com/JohnPeelCentre.dll/WhatsOn?f=505371

June13th Prince Albert Brighton https://www.seetickets.com/event/pauline-murray-helen-mccookerybook/the-prince-albert/3616963

June14th Golden Hinde, London https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/pauline-murray-penetration-helen-mccookerybook-live-on-the-golden-hinde-tickets-1984895127759

July 18th Da Da Da, Sheffield https://www.skiddle.com/whats-on/Sheffield/Channing-Hall/DA-DA-DA-party/42375316/

July 19th Grayston Unity, Halifax https://www.seetickets.com/event/afternoon-of-story-telers/the-grayston-unity-hx1-1pu/3631481

July 26th High Tide Festival, Twickenham