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 though, because when the last few come in I'll be ready to include them.
I do need to replay the guitar part though, 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 an 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, but there are a lot of driving factors contributing to making this album. 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 lives 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.
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