Oh boy, I had to review the Eurovision Song Contest!
What a pity the sugar-pink Danish transvestite didn't get through- I rather liked him and his song....
...but we got the fierce Irish song, the Hungarian woman with the excellent voice who sang a song that appeared to be constructed from discarded fragments of every song lyric ever written (bit like those DIY Dylan songs here on the internet), the Lithuanians with a Proper Song, the Greek man with the wobbly shoulders (shakidup, shakidup, bringitdown, LAWDHAVMERCEH!).
What a lot of Goths there were, and what a lot of guitars!
Here's Georgia, Cherie Blair with curls! Sweden, a melange of 'Love Grows where my Rossemary Goes' by Edison Lighthouse (remember that?) and The Sweet, with a dash of electronica to spice it up!
So many of them trying to do a send-up, arrogant grinning buffoons!
Here come the French, looking like children's TV presenters from the 1980s, singing in Franglais!
Germany, all Mack-the-knife, the guy getting over-excited by the 60s vibe and nearly wobbling his head off, bearing an unfortunate resemblance to the butcher at the supermarket counter in his white trilby!
Or what about the tin men from Ukraine, singing the Y Viva Espana of the evening, perfect panto-vision; scary, OTT, with their slightly fascist goose-stepping dance: Hitler youth dressed in aluminium foil?
At last, the UK's vote-catcher. Did they mention your country? Thought not! And what do they have to say to the international community? "Babada, babada!'. Wow! Deep, man!
And the Romanians, trying to outdo them by singing in as many languages as possible in 3 minutes and 45 seconds. Oompa oompa, Romanians!
I liked the Bulgarians with their percussion and gothic wailing!
Oh, that poor Turkish chappie, a singing robin who licked his lips lasciviously from time to time and winced when the decorative fires burst into flame at the end of the song!
Well, got to stop now for the results... I'll leave you with a Russian finale, from by far the best worst song of the night:
My bad ass spinning for you (eh?)
Feel my vibration! Get it!
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Electronic Babies
All the teenage girls in our neighbourhood have been given electronic babies to persuade them that it's not a good option to be a single teenage mum.
Unfortunately, the school has programmed the babies to wake and cry at identical moments, and the girls think this is very amusing. They also pick up and channel that rhythm from mobile phones that is so irritating when it interrupts music on the radio or over speakers, so as the girls text each other to complain about the constant crying, another SFX is added to the cacophony.
There are groups of girls wandering round town with big plastic babies in babyslings; does this make their mums electronic grandmas?
I remember when Justin and Colin, those well-known gay interior designers ('now it's time to dress the room') adopted an electronic baby. They fell in love with it and cried when they had to give it back. I thought that was very touching.
Unfortunately, the school has programmed the babies to wake and cry at identical moments, and the girls think this is very amusing. They also pick up and channel that rhythm from mobile phones that is so irritating when it interrupts music on the radio or over speakers, so as the girls text each other to complain about the constant crying, another SFX is added to the cacophony.
There are groups of girls wandering round town with big plastic babies in babyslings; does this make their mums electronic grandmas?
I remember when Justin and Colin, those well-known gay interior designers ('now it's time to dress the room') adopted an electronic baby. They fell in love with it and cried when they had to give it back. I thought that was very touching.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Song Club
Yes, Song Club. It happens in a little primary school down the road, and I happen it.
This time around we are writing songs based on a visit to the RAF Museum at Colindale, and we're taking the children there next Thursday to see those huge scary planes with their bombing-mission markers and their thousands of rivets.
I was so knackered after yesterdays session- I'd forgotten what it's like trying to have ten eyes on ten very lively children who have been sitting still all day and who want to bounce around like superballs singing at the tops of their voices. But we managed to write the first song- very spontaneously. We are called the Sky High Song Club, and that's what the song's about. We got the benches out, got felt pen on the floor, drank blackcurrant and apple juice, had a chocolate digestive biscuit, tore some paper, each child went to the bathroom once (or was it twice), took off their sweatshirts, lost them, I forgot their names, didn't shout, lost my voice anyway, we put the benches away, said see you next week, and I came home exhausted.
This time around we are writing songs based on a visit to the RAF Museum at Colindale, and we're taking the children there next Thursday to see those huge scary planes with their bombing-mission markers and their thousands of rivets.
I was so knackered after yesterdays session- I'd forgotten what it's like trying to have ten eyes on ten very lively children who have been sitting still all day and who want to bounce around like superballs singing at the tops of their voices. But we managed to write the first song- very spontaneously. We are called the Sky High Song Club, and that's what the song's about. We got the benches out, got felt pen on the floor, drank blackcurrant and apple juice, had a chocolate digestive biscuit, tore some paper, each child went to the bathroom once (or was it twice), took off their sweatshirts, lost them, I forgot their names, didn't shout, lost my voice anyway, we put the benches away, said see you next week, and I came home exhausted.
Eleven Teabags
We used to have really good parties in those houses in Camberwell- mad.
At one of them I spent the whole night talking to my Champagne Friend's best friend from Norwich. She had a bright fluorescent green top on that reflected off her face, and it was fascinating to talk to a green person all night long.
At 5 o'clock we went down to have a cup of tea; the kitchen was full. Some people were going to Brick Lane, others were just hanging out and talking nonsense.
We worked our way through several cups of tea until someone noticed that we could only get two cups of tea out of the massive teapot that had poured tea for ten. It was a complete mystery, which kept us occupied for about 45 minutes until Champagne Friend looked in the pot and discovered eleven teabags. She's been boiling the kettle, shoving in a couple of teabags, and had not thought to remove the old ones.
And then, as we were looking out of the window, the sun suddenly came up- not gradually sliding over the horizon, but pop! like somebody switching on a light bulb.
Never knew it did that.
At one of them I spent the whole night talking to my Champagne Friend's best friend from Norwich. She had a bright fluorescent green top on that reflected off her face, and it was fascinating to talk to a green person all night long.
At 5 o'clock we went down to have a cup of tea; the kitchen was full. Some people were going to Brick Lane, others were just hanging out and talking nonsense.
We worked our way through several cups of tea until someone noticed that we could only get two cups of tea out of the massive teapot that had poured tea for ten. It was a complete mystery, which kept us occupied for about 45 minutes until Champagne Friend looked in the pot and discovered eleven teabags. She's been boiling the kettle, shoving in a couple of teabags, and had not thought to remove the old ones.
And then, as we were looking out of the window, the sun suddenly came up- not gradually sliding over the horizon, but pop! like somebody switching on a light bulb.
Never knew it did that.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Elvis
Do you think his mother meant to call him Levi's, after the blue denim jeans, and couldn't spell?
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Strange fruit and an even stranger cardigan
Let's start with the cardigan, my failed attempt at one of those 1950s-style jackety things with a knitted picture on the back. You know, I'm good at the knitted picture part but making the thing into a proper shape, forget it. It has definite 1980s shoulders- urgh- and I have had to pull out one zip (because I bought a dress zip that doesn't open at the bottom) and put in another and I hate sewing. And it is far too short and has a sort of humpy back. And it's so tightly knitted it stands up on its own.
But because I have a weakness for the non-standard one-off, of course I have fallen in love with it and I am defiantly wearing it and defending it against all sorts of pss-taking. It is also incredibly warm, which is great because it's turned incredibly cold. So there.
Fruit? Oh yes, two things about my Sis. She was in hospital once and her friend took her in a bag of tomatoes. Sis loves tomatoes as much as anything, and her friend knew that, and took her just what she wanted.
The other thing was a very odd man-in-a-mac from the Wylam Plymouth Brethren took rather a shine to her when she was a teenager, and marched up the front path with a very nice big bag of freshly-picked Brussels Sprouts to woo her with. Not the best plan, really.
Oh that's enough. I had breakfast with my Champagne Friend in the Wolsey this morning. We were sitting next to a businessman chatting to a French lady. He had a smart suit and a sling across his chest with a very tiny baby in it, who he was feeding with a bottle as he chatted. There was a napkin on the baby's head so it didn't get crumbs on it.
What made me think about the tomatoes is that Sis's friend who took her the tomatoes lives in North Carolina and I might be going there to do some gigs with Martin Stephenson in September. Now that is something to be very excited about, especially if I can get myself on to a plane!
But because I have a weakness for the non-standard one-off, of course I have fallen in love with it and I am defiantly wearing it and defending it against all sorts of pss-taking. It is also incredibly warm, which is great because it's turned incredibly cold. So there.
Fruit? Oh yes, two things about my Sis. She was in hospital once and her friend took her in a bag of tomatoes. Sis loves tomatoes as much as anything, and her friend knew that, and took her just what she wanted.
The other thing was a very odd man-in-a-mac from the Wylam Plymouth Brethren took rather a shine to her when she was a teenager, and marched up the front path with a very nice big bag of freshly-picked Brussels Sprouts to woo her with. Not the best plan, really.
Oh that's enough. I had breakfast with my Champagne Friend in the Wolsey this morning. We were sitting next to a businessman chatting to a French lady. He had a smart suit and a sling across his chest with a very tiny baby in it, who he was feeding with a bottle as he chatted. There was a napkin on the baby's head so it didn't get crumbs on it.
What made me think about the tomatoes is that Sis's friend who took her the tomatoes lives in North Carolina and I might be going there to do some gigs with Martin Stephenson in September. Now that is something to be very excited about, especially if I can get myself on to a plane!
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Tuesday? Must be museday!
Yes, musings...
Three girls used to travel round the UK to see King Kurt play on a Family Railcard. They were all 14 and 15; one, Zoff, used to dress as Mumgirl, with a headscarf, specs and a big handbag and mumsy skirt. Her sister Laura and a girl called Saffron Aldridge who is now a famous model, were the Girlgirls, who pretended to be her daughters. They never got caught out. Brilliant.
More disguises: when I lived in Willesden, R and L decided to do a very naughty thing. R borrowed a little 50s suit I had and some spare spectacles, and L got dressed up too. They went to Windsor or Slough- somewhere far off, with L's credit card, which she'd wiped her original signature from with lighter fluid, and forged a new one on to. They 'bought' masses of audio stuff with it- a beatbox, a Walkman; the salesman was so delighted he threw in loads of free stuff too- cassettes, batteries and so on. Later, they came back roaring with laughter and spread out their electronic spoils on R's carpet to look at.
R was fine, but L started to have bad luck upon bad luck- everything went wrong in her life.
Finally, someone broke into her flat and nicked everything she'd 'bought'. It was only then that her luck changed and a cloud lifted for her; she told me she was sure she was being punished for instigating such a dishonest thing!
* * * * *
Musicky things- there's a short review in Folkandroots e-zine of Suburban Pastoral.
Think that will probably be the last one- I'm a no-go Mojo person. What a shame, since I subscribe to it: but I'm not bugger enough to cancel it.
Oh yes! I ordered some badges from a company with the picture of the lawnmower that Ben painted on the pavement outside the courthouse in Barnet, and they haven't turned up. I'll have to badger them for them.
Groan.
Three girls used to travel round the UK to see King Kurt play on a Family Railcard. They were all 14 and 15; one, Zoff, used to dress as Mumgirl, with a headscarf, specs and a big handbag and mumsy skirt. Her sister Laura and a girl called Saffron Aldridge who is now a famous model, were the Girlgirls, who pretended to be her daughters. They never got caught out. Brilliant.
More disguises: when I lived in Willesden, R and L decided to do a very naughty thing. R borrowed a little 50s suit I had and some spare spectacles, and L got dressed up too. They went to Windsor or Slough- somewhere far off, with L's credit card, which she'd wiped her original signature from with lighter fluid, and forged a new one on to. They 'bought' masses of audio stuff with it- a beatbox, a Walkman; the salesman was so delighted he threw in loads of free stuff too- cassettes, batteries and so on. Later, they came back roaring with laughter and spread out their electronic spoils on R's carpet to look at.
R was fine, but L started to have bad luck upon bad luck- everything went wrong in her life.
Finally, someone broke into her flat and nicked everything she'd 'bought'. It was only then that her luck changed and a cloud lifted for her; she told me she was sure she was being punished for instigating such a dishonest thing!
* * * * *
Musicky things- there's a short review in Folkandroots e-zine of Suburban Pastoral.
Think that will probably be the last one- I'm a no-go Mojo person. What a shame, since I subscribe to it: but I'm not bugger enough to cancel it.
Oh yes! I ordered some badges from a company with the picture of the lawnmower that Ben painted on the pavement outside the courthouse in Barnet, and they haven't turned up. I'll have to badger them for them.
Groan.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Take a walk with me while I ramble on.....
Just thinking how grateful I am to Mike for setting this site up for me- I must go to Offline this month. I haven't been for ages because of book proof gazing and staring, multiple gigs-as-therapy to cope with book proof staring and gazing, and various life complications, both nice and not.
Today's menu consists of a roughly 50/50 mix of ousting a rat from under the cooker (I know you are there, furbag, even if the stoopid cats and even stoopider dog can't smell you) and refining (yes, I am poncy today) a new song I started yesterday, inspired by listening to Arthur Big Boy Crudup (genius). It has a complicated thing in the left hand, which I am going to have to do some serious practicing to get right. Already my fingers hurt, which is something, because I usually play guitar for more than an hour a day. But although I am fairly happy with my fingerpicking (I can usually learn what I need to reasonably quickly), I don't know much about the rockstar boystuff like hammering-on, and I'm definitely crap at doing runs; my left hand is a lazy slowcoach and was hoping to get away with it for the rest of my life. But I've taken it in hand (har har), and it's gonna have to learn some new stuff as I have PLANS that involve becoming a much better guitarist. I've found a postcard with Mahalia Jackson on it and she's there to inspire me, along with a postcard of the Carter Family (Maybelline invented a fingerpickin' style called the Carter Scratch and I think I play a bit like that, having been a bass player and needing those little riffs going on whenever I play). Combine that with Singing Season (I have between June and September to do the best vocals I can of the year) and I hope the new album and any other recordings I do will be a step up from the last one, which, after all, was an accident.
I still want to bring out a vinyl EP befre then with lots of short tracks on it but it costs £600 to press up 300 which is just too much. I know someone who has done a vinyl release before and I think I'll ask her if she knows anywhere cheaper.
I have a distributor now which means that soon Suburban Pastoral will be available on Amazon, but not the Helen and the Horns Etc one, as the record company has gone to ground. I still have some and take them down to Rough Trade when they need them.
Today's menu consists of a roughly 50/50 mix of ousting a rat from under the cooker (I know you are there, furbag, even if the stoopid cats and even stoopider dog can't smell you) and refining (yes, I am poncy today) a new song I started yesterday, inspired by listening to Arthur Big Boy Crudup (genius). It has a complicated thing in the left hand, which I am going to have to do some serious practicing to get right. Already my fingers hurt, which is something, because I usually play guitar for more than an hour a day. But although I am fairly happy with my fingerpicking (I can usually learn what I need to reasonably quickly), I don't know much about the rockstar boystuff like hammering-on, and I'm definitely crap at doing runs; my left hand is a lazy slowcoach and was hoping to get away with it for the rest of my life. But I've taken it in hand (har har), and it's gonna have to learn some new stuff as I have PLANS that involve becoming a much better guitarist. I've found a postcard with Mahalia Jackson on it and she's there to inspire me, along with a postcard of the Carter Family (Maybelline invented a fingerpickin' style called the Carter Scratch and I think I play a bit like that, having been a bass player and needing those little riffs going on whenever I play). Combine that with Singing Season (I have between June and September to do the best vocals I can of the year) and I hope the new album and any other recordings I do will be a step up from the last one, which, after all, was an accident.
I still want to bring out a vinyl EP befre then with lots of short tracks on it but it costs £600 to press up 300 which is just too much. I know someone who has done a vinyl release before and I think I'll ask her if she knows anywhere cheaper.
I have a distributor now which means that soon Suburban Pastoral will be available on Amazon, but not the Helen and the Horns Etc one, as the record company has gone to ground. I still have some and take them down to Rough Trade when they need them.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Hoovering
I suppose you can get into your gig with hoovering just as much as anything else, really.
I have just hoovered my room.
Headstocks on all electric guitars, and dusty necks.
Ladyshapes of fiddle with broken tuning peg
Banjo- boy does she look better all shiny! I can forgive that viciously high action that makes her impossible to play! And what a nice resonance when I ran the brush along her strings!
Hofner semi-acoustic bass I used to play in the Chefs- not too grubby.
Spanish guitar, sorry I keep forgetting to play you, mate.
Bookshelves, in between the silly things I can't prevent myself from collecting
Accordion, sorry I never got you fixed petal, give me time and I'll take you down to Allodi's in Lewisham, other side of town, to get tuned and fixed, too expensive at the moment.
Put photos of Chefs and Helen and the Horns on the bed so I don't hoover them up- must remember to scan them later
Under old Electrovoice microphone not worth a thing on eBay unforchly.
Door mouldings, windowsill (this is serious detail, folks, I am not usually so thorough!)
Computer keys- put Archie Bell and the Drells 'Let's Groove' on pause by accident. Starts up again- 'Can't Get Used to Losing You' by Andy Williams, one of the most frighteningly sinister songs in the universe, next to 'Green Door'. Thought about The Beat and 'Stand Down Margaret' dub version, absolutely brilliant, shame it didn't make her stand down.
Harmon Kardon fancy speakers- couldn't get 'em to work until I realised you had to switch them on at the computer. All shiny and space-age now although I can't get the bits out of the middle of the bass speaker- howja do that? Boom boom boom.....
Finally the vaccuum cleaner turned on its back like a turtle and died.
What a relief.
I have hidden the last Walnut Whip from everybody, and when they are busy I'm going to go and eat it.
I have just hoovered my room.
Headstocks on all electric guitars, and dusty necks.
Ladyshapes of fiddle with broken tuning peg
Banjo- boy does she look better all shiny! I can forgive that viciously high action that makes her impossible to play! And what a nice resonance when I ran the brush along her strings!
Hofner semi-acoustic bass I used to play in the Chefs- not too grubby.
Spanish guitar, sorry I keep forgetting to play you, mate.
Bookshelves, in between the silly things I can't prevent myself from collecting
Accordion, sorry I never got you fixed petal, give me time and I'll take you down to Allodi's in Lewisham, other side of town, to get tuned and fixed, too expensive at the moment.
Put photos of Chefs and Helen and the Horns on the bed so I don't hoover them up- must remember to scan them later
Under old Electrovoice microphone not worth a thing on eBay unforchly.
Door mouldings, windowsill (this is serious detail, folks, I am not usually so thorough!)
Computer keys- put Archie Bell and the Drells 'Let's Groove' on pause by accident. Starts up again- 'Can't Get Used to Losing You' by Andy Williams, one of the most frighteningly sinister songs in the universe, next to 'Green Door'. Thought about The Beat and 'Stand Down Margaret' dub version, absolutely brilliant, shame it didn't make her stand down.
Harmon Kardon fancy speakers- couldn't get 'em to work until I realised you had to switch them on at the computer. All shiny and space-age now although I can't get the bits out of the middle of the bass speaker- howja do that? Boom boom boom.....
Finally the vaccuum cleaner turned on its back like a turtle and died.
What a relief.
I have hidden the last Walnut Whip from everybody, and when they are busy I'm going to go and eat it.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Oh All Right Then
One last posting. The Last Post.
Uncle James won a piglet in a raffle in Wylam.
He lived in Leicester, so he gave the piglet away.
Uncle James won a piglet in a raffle in Wylam.
He lived in Leicester, so he gave the piglet away.
Chatting Away to Blogger
Well, the thing is, you're such a good listener- and you never interrupt!
My friend Joan makes brilliant films. She's going to Lancashire where a farmer has a meadow that's just right for filming in: all the grasses and weeds are in a perfect tangle; the film involves a moss bikini and a wooden hare made in Poland. A man with a massive collection of vintage cars is the cameraman. If I was a film-maker, I'd make a film about Joan making the film. It would probably almost be as good as Joan's film.
But I'm not a film-maker.
Suburban Pastoral got reviewed in Wearsthetrousers e-zine (you should have a look, it's great). The reviewer made a big deal out of my middle-aged-housewifeness and I felt a bit hurt until I remembered that that is exactly what I am. But I am a lot of other things too. It reminded me of The Chefs, when we made a big thing of our simplicity and I overheard a guy going into one of our gigs saying 'That's the band with the little girl in, isn't it?' to his friend. Somebody has to big up the ordinary in this world of superstars, Kate Mosses, Posh Spices, Hugh Fearnley Whittingstalls, the cross chef who shouts a lot, and so on. Everybody is making such a cacophony, whispering has a great appeal.
At least the reviewer said I could sing!
(Joan's brother in law Marlon rode a motorbike and died five weeks ago on the M25 when a lorry jacknifed. At his funeral on Wednesday, 300 Harley-Davidsons turned up and closed Enfield town centre. What a fantastic send-off for a lovely bloke.)
My friend Joan makes brilliant films. She's going to Lancashire where a farmer has a meadow that's just right for filming in: all the grasses and weeds are in a perfect tangle; the film involves a moss bikini and a wooden hare made in Poland. A man with a massive collection of vintage cars is the cameraman. If I was a film-maker, I'd make a film about Joan making the film. It would probably almost be as good as Joan's film.
But I'm not a film-maker.
Suburban Pastoral got reviewed in Wearsthetrousers e-zine (you should have a look, it's great). The reviewer made a big deal out of my middle-aged-housewifeness and I felt a bit hurt until I remembered that that is exactly what I am. But I am a lot of other things too. It reminded me of The Chefs, when we made a big thing of our simplicity and I overheard a guy going into one of our gigs saying 'That's the band with the little girl in, isn't it?' to his friend. Somebody has to big up the ordinary in this world of superstars, Kate Mosses, Posh Spices, Hugh Fearnley Whittingstalls, the cross chef who shouts a lot, and so on. Everybody is making such a cacophony, whispering has a great appeal.
At least the reviewer said I could sing!
(Joan's brother in law Marlon rode a motorbike and died five weeks ago on the M25 when a lorry jacknifed. At his funeral on Wednesday, 300 Harley-Davidsons turned up and closed Enfield town centre. What a fantastic send-off for a lovely bloke.)
Twee-but-true: the story of Freight Train
I wrote Freight Train while I was walking up the road with a bagful of laundry that I'd just washed at the launderette at the bottom of Chatsworth Road, in Kilburn. That's why it has a pace like that- left/right/left/right, walking speed. When I got to the top of the hill where our house was, I got to the bit of the song where there ought to be some sort of solo. There was a tree in our garden where a blackbird used to sing its heart out. It was there, singing its usual song, perfectly in pitch with what I'd been writing in my head.
So the song was completed by a bird.
Next: the West songwriters did themselves proud on Thursday, I was absolutely delighted by their lovely music and also their dignity.
Next: I have finally read the final final final proofs of the book, and now will be able to catch up with lots of people I haven't seen for months. Watch out, everybody!
There are grand plans afoot for songwriting projects, and also Song Club starts up too this week, with Jamie taking over from Dan. Next week I also hope to finish Joby's soundtrack with Pete's weird sound toys on it, and then I'll begin to finish the next album!
P.s. hello blogreaders from Birkenhead!
So the song was completed by a bird.
Next: the West songwriters did themselves proud on Thursday, I was absolutely delighted by their lovely music and also their dignity.
Next: I have finally read the final final final proofs of the book, and now will be able to catch up with lots of people I haven't seen for months. Watch out, everybody!
There are grand plans afoot for songwriting projects, and also Song Club starts up too this week, with Jamie taking over from Dan. Next week I also hope to finish Joby's soundtrack with Pete's weird sound toys on it, and then I'll begin to finish the next album!
P.s. hello blogreaders from Birkenhead!
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Should Crap Spellers Write Blogs?
This has been taxing me. I re-read yesterday's posting and was ashamed at my spelling errors.
It's because I write this at stupidly early times (6.30 this morning)
Anyway, enough self- fgallietation!
The Mayfest at East London was great- it was so sunny and people just hung out and ate ice creams (2 in my case). The East songwriters did a short-but-sweet set; they were very nervous but I know they felt really glad they had done it afterwards.
Today, I am spending all day with the West songwriters.
Lucky, inni?
It's because I write this at stupidly early times (6.30 this morning)
Anyway, enough self- fgallietation!
The Mayfest at East London was great- it was so sunny and people just hung out and ate ice creams (2 in my case). The East songwriters did a short-but-sweet set; they were very nervous but I know they felt really glad they had done it afterwards.
Today, I am spending all day with the West songwriters.
Lucky, inni?
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Songwriters Anonymous
This was at a different place to last time but it had a very similar 'vibe' man- very informal, comfortable chairs. As I got there, Nev was singing and telling everyone about his Jennifer Jones collection on Myspace (that's the title of one of his songs). Two women sitting next to me were singing along. This seems to be the new thing and it's lovely- at Katy and Sharon's gig a few weeks ago everyone was joining in as they picked up the songs... informal.
Next was a guy called Eddie's Brother, who did comical songs with some fantastic guitar playing; he had a very relaxed and casual playing style but he knew what he was doing with them chords. The songs were very funny except for the last one which was not one for a rabid feminist's ears, being about women leaving hair all over the house and liking shoes. Men like football and fart, don't they?
The best one was Harry Cheeseman, who had a shaky start but not only writes really good songs (they sort of reminded me of the Monochrome Set but with less arty lyrics) but has an incredible voice that probably has Elvis turning in his grave. Huge, deep, powerful and very mature for a young chap. Luckily, he didn't make any attempt to look like Elvis, because he had long hair. But if I was a nice record company (they don't exist, unfortunately), I'd give him an island in Scotland and tell him to go off there and write 15 albums. I was very surprised to see someone so much a cut above the normal singer/songwritery person on a Tuesday night in King's Cross. very rough around the edges, but very good.
Well, I actually really got into my gig, too. I was just in the perfect mood to live the songs. Nev asked me to cut the set a bit short because it was all running late but as I was playing I heard him exclaim 'Good Songs' and he came up and asked me to play a normal set after all. I managed to play Poetry and Rhyme all the way through, so I havegot you, you difficult song. and singing came easy and my throat didn't attempt to strangle me as it does sometimes.
It was a good evening. Nev chooses good acts.
Pete, nice to see you again, and also Ian from Nude Magazine and your friend who likes the Chefs. Gabriella was there too- must mean Katy is away somewhere.Nother busy day at Docklands work today, but it's sunny and I am happy.
Next was a guy called Eddie's Brother, who did comical songs with some fantastic guitar playing; he had a very relaxed and casual playing style but he knew what he was doing with them chords. The songs were very funny except for the last one which was not one for a rabid feminist's ears, being about women leaving hair all over the house and liking shoes. Men like football and fart, don't they?
The best one was Harry Cheeseman, who had a shaky start but not only writes really good songs (they sort of reminded me of the Monochrome Set but with less arty lyrics) but has an incredible voice that probably has Elvis turning in his grave. Huge, deep, powerful and very mature for a young chap. Luckily, he didn't make any attempt to look like Elvis, because he had long hair. But if I was a nice record company (they don't exist, unfortunately), I'd give him an island in Scotland and tell him to go off there and write 15 albums. I was very surprised to see someone so much a cut above the normal singer/songwritery person on a Tuesday night in King's Cross. very rough around the edges, but very good.
Well, I actually really got into my gig, too. I was just in the perfect mood to live the songs. Nev asked me to cut the set a bit short because it was all running late but as I was playing I heard him exclaim 'Good Songs' and he came up and asked me to play a normal set after all. I managed to play Poetry and Rhyme all the way through, so I havegot you, you difficult song. and singing came easy and my throat didn't attempt to strangle me as it does sometimes.
It was a good evening. Nev chooses good acts.
Pete, nice to see you again, and also Ian from Nude Magazine and your friend who likes the Chefs. Gabriella was there too- must mean Katy is away somewhere.Nother busy day at Docklands work today, but it's sunny and I am happy.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Gig Tonight
Playing tonight at Songwriters Anonymous, The Cross Kings, 126 York Way, King's Cross
Nev's a good promoter, things run on time. I'm on at 10.30.
By the way, I spent yesterday afternoon clearing a stinky mouse's nest from a cupboard under the sink. What's wrong with me cats?
Coincidentally, Martin Stephenson had just told me a poem he'd written about a mouse in Scotland.
Spooky!
Nev's a good promoter, things run on time. I'm on at 10.30.
By the way, I spent yesterday afternoon clearing a stinky mouse's nest from a cupboard under the sink. What's wrong with me cats?
Coincidentally, Martin Stephenson had just told me a poem he'd written about a mouse in Scotland.
Spooky!
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