Oh no, it's not!
It's Thursday.
Blast.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Eighties Style and Helen and the Horns
I was particularly proud of the fact that we didn't look fashionable: I didn't order the Horns out of a 'we look cool' catalogue and as a band we were liberated by this.
The pop star Marilyn reviewed Freight Train on Round Table, the weekly BBC Radio One round-up of new releases. He was disparaging, sneering after the other reviewer remarked what a lovely happy sound it was,'I'm just wondering how much her mother paid for her singing lessons!'.
Ouch! That hurt!
The Chefs had told me that I sang out of tune all the time and told me I should go and have lessons.
I found a lovely old man to teach me but could often not afford to pay, and I'd sometimes go without eating to make sure I didn't miss a session. He twigged soon enough and started giving me free lessons, with the occasional resting of his hand on my thigh in exchange. Naturally, I could not bear this and went back to paying and starving.
So Marilyn, you were wrong. And when your 'people' phoned to book the Horns for a Top of the Pops appearance, I refused to let you have them. I was not going to let you mock and scorn them because they weren't dressed in the latest fashions like you, and because their sound was more important to them than their looks.
I still feel a pang of guilt that maybe I prevented them from appearing on the iconic TV programme but I do feel in my heart of hearts that I saved them from a scathing rejection by a sarcastic style icon.
Later, we ended up where we belonged- Pebble Mill at One!
The pop star Marilyn reviewed Freight Train on Round Table, the weekly BBC Radio One round-up of new releases. He was disparaging, sneering after the other reviewer remarked what a lovely happy sound it was,'I'm just wondering how much her mother paid for her singing lessons!'.
Ouch! That hurt!
The Chefs had told me that I sang out of tune all the time and told me I should go and have lessons.
I found a lovely old man to teach me but could often not afford to pay, and I'd sometimes go without eating to make sure I didn't miss a session. He twigged soon enough and started giving me free lessons, with the occasional resting of his hand on my thigh in exchange. Naturally, I could not bear this and went back to paying and starving.
So Marilyn, you were wrong. And when your 'people' phoned to book the Horns for a Top of the Pops appearance, I refused to let you have them. I was not going to let you mock and scorn them because they weren't dressed in the latest fashions like you, and because their sound was more important to them than their looks.
I still feel a pang of guilt that maybe I prevented them from appearing on the iconic TV programme but I do feel in my heart of hearts that I saved them from a scathing rejection by a sarcastic style icon.
Later, we ended up where we belonged- Pebble Mill at One!
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Storage
Having a lock-up is expensive, but wonderful.
I'd associated it with stress, because I'd had to make the arrangements before work one morning just before moving, and then the heroic removal men dropped off a load of stuff there first before coming to the house (sweet- they were triumphant that it all fitted in and couldn't stifle a couple of ruffty-tuffty grins).
Yesterday I went down there to see if there was room for my vinyl albums, the ones I didn't take to the Oxfam shop, and there was.
It was rather exciting- the place was full of people doing mysteriously different things: there were stacks of boxes destined for T.K. Maxx with 'Farhi' written on the side, young people fitting furniture into boots of cars (just), piles of empty flattened cartons, families dropping off collective family overspill and people locking up and unlocking and trundling trolleys up and down the aisles.
It was a hive of quiet activity, and not the dreaded gloomy experience I'd expected.
I'd associated it with stress, because I'd had to make the arrangements before work one morning just before moving, and then the heroic removal men dropped off a load of stuff there first before coming to the house (sweet- they were triumphant that it all fitted in and couldn't stifle a couple of ruffty-tuffty grins).
Yesterday I went down there to see if there was room for my vinyl albums, the ones I didn't take to the Oxfam shop, and there was.
It was rather exciting- the place was full of people doing mysteriously different things: there were stacks of boxes destined for T.K. Maxx with 'Farhi' written on the side, young people fitting furniture into boots of cars (just), piles of empty flattened cartons, families dropping off collective family overspill and people locking up and unlocking and trundling trolleys up and down the aisles.
It was a hive of quiet activity, and not the dreaded gloomy experience I'd expected.
Songlab Showcase at Stratford Circus
In spite of the fact that I was well on my way when a panic-stricken phone call from Offsprog 2 made me turn round and head home again (it's rained for a month and the front door has absorbed the lot of it and swollen up so sometimes it won't open, but she managed to get in and I did a u-turn).
The crew at Stratford Circus were incredibly easy-going about everything which meant our ten minute bursts of R'n'B, hip-hop, experimental, neo-classical, folk and singer-songwriter, not forgetting the soprano sax, was all within their capabilities. We had big round tables and I had brought my Las Vegas rope lights, and the atmosphere was there, and the playing was good, from beginner to expert, and there will be more!
Star of the night was Phoebe Osborne, whose song writing skills have really developed over the last three years and she is one to watch!
Monday, December 07, 2009
UEL-tide Greetings
Tonight at Stratford Circus, Theatre Square, Stratford E15 1BX
A free informal evening of song writing by UEL staff and students (staff Yumi Hara Cawkwell, Jo Thomas, Andrew Blake and me)
Starts 8 p.m.
A free informal evening of song writing by UEL staff and students (staff Yumi Hara Cawkwell, Jo Thomas, Andrew Blake and me)
Starts 8 p.m.
The Hamster with Poisonous Fur
How amusing!
This year's dangerous Christmas present is a toy hamster with poisonous fur. Never normally one for one-upmanship, I break my resolve to tell you that my own version of this resides in the fridge: as we were lunching yesterday, Offsprog Two casually pointed out that the butter had an attractive skimming of green fur on it, and had done so for several days.
'I've just been scraping it off and digging underneath', she explained.
This year's dangerous Christmas present is a toy hamster with poisonous fur. Never normally one for one-upmanship, I break my resolve to tell you that my own version of this resides in the fridge: as we were lunching yesterday, Offsprog Two casually pointed out that the butter had an attractive skimming of green fur on it, and had done so for several days.
'I've just been scraping it off and digging underneath', she explained.
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Portobello
How exciting! After weeks of waking at 5.30, a habit that I developed before moving due to having to get up to pack boxes before work, I overslept this morning and I've had a fantastically relaxed day.
I went to Portobello Road Market by a roundabout route after reading the Saturday papers, and wandered round the stalls looking for Christmas presents. I noticed a couple of stalls with Japanese designers who had made lovely neat little tweed dresses and coats out of different colours and designs of tweed. I tried a dress on but almost got stuck in it, so gave it a miss. There were some lovely vintage Nordic sweaters (quite literally perhaps: they are often rather stinky), and lots of checky shirts (they must be in fashion). I could have spent a fortune on junky jewellery and foetid but exciting shoes. There were lots of nice smells floating about making an aromatic cocktail- mulled wine and Thai noodles! And music- reggae from one stall fused into jazz from another, a stall where a Rasta kept time with percussion as a saxophone melody snaked through the crowds.
It's the best market in town, partly because it quite obviously hasn't changed that much since the Sixties: some stallholders perched on their stools looked as though they hadn't moved since then, merely getting older gradually and still wearing their Sixties finery and make-up. Their particular stalls sell Indian smocks, perhaps, or Tibetan jewellery, or perhaps vintage handbags from the Sixties that have sat there with them all this time.
On the way back I was struck by this jolly rockabilly Santa whose costume didn't even bother to try to look like a disguise! Perfect for a silly Saturday afternoon.
(Zoot, I hope your cat is OK)
I went to Portobello Road Market by a roundabout route after reading the Saturday papers, and wandered round the stalls looking for Christmas presents. I noticed a couple of stalls with Japanese designers who had made lovely neat little tweed dresses and coats out of different colours and designs of tweed. I tried a dress on but almost got stuck in it, so gave it a miss. There were some lovely vintage Nordic sweaters (quite literally perhaps: they are often rather stinky), and lots of checky shirts (they must be in fashion). I could have spent a fortune on junky jewellery and foetid but exciting shoes. There were lots of nice smells floating about making an aromatic cocktail- mulled wine and Thai noodles! And music- reggae from one stall fused into jazz from another, a stall where a Rasta kept time with percussion as a saxophone melody snaked through the crowds.
It's the best market in town, partly because it quite obviously hasn't changed that much since the Sixties: some stallholders perched on their stools looked as though they hadn't moved since then, merely getting older gradually and still wearing their Sixties finery and make-up. Their particular stalls sell Indian smocks, perhaps, or Tibetan jewellery, or perhaps vintage handbags from the Sixties that have sat there with them all this time.
(Zoot, I hope your cat is OK)
Internetting
It's on at home, and I'm up late, pootling around sites and overposting on my blog.
I did want to tell you this though.
I drove into the car park at work this morning and turned the corner to be met by a huge line of black-suited backs stretched across the road. I couldn't work out what was happening until I realised that a large delegation of Chinese businessmen were having their photograph taken and there were so many of them that the only place they could do this was in the cold wet car park.
At first they didn't know I was there and I fumbled for my camera to take a 'behind the Chinese delegation' photo.
But just then one man turned round and saw me and they all dispersed apologetically. I wouldn't have minded waiting because I thought it was sweet- they were all clearly in very good spirits. Once I'd passed, they reassembled, did their photo smiles, had a good laugh and went off to catch their coach.
I did want to tell you this though.
I drove into the car park at work this morning and turned the corner to be met by a huge line of black-suited backs stretched across the road. I couldn't work out what was happening until I realised that a large delegation of Chinese businessmen were having their photograph taken and there were so many of them that the only place they could do this was in the cold wet car park.
At first they didn't know I was there and I fumbled for my camera to take a 'behind the Chinese delegation' photo.
But just then one man turned round and saw me and they all dispersed apologetically. I wouldn't have minded waiting because I thought it was sweet- they were all clearly in very good spirits. Once I'd passed, they reassembled, did their photo smiles, had a good laugh and went off to catch their coach.
Friday, December 04, 2009
Love on the Wind, Half Moon, Putney
I hear it's going to stop being a music venue and turn into a gastropub
What a shame!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zavsPCBp520
What a shame!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zavsPCBp520
Anallergies and Friday Doggerel
At the University of the East, there is never a good day.
There are shades of badness; we are not making Ugly Ducklings into Swans (many of the students are physically beautiful), but a lot of the time we are making Fireworks into Swans, which is less of a natural progression and more of a challenge.
This isn't everyone, of course, but enough people to cause bouts of physical dread before each teaching day. For this reason I am glad I live far away, driving round the dreamy grey industrial North Circular each morning into a different world of misunderstanding and agression, and back each night to my safe little box, through London's grimy and anonymous underpinnings and into my own anonymous suburb.
I have learned patience and to become a sponge for people's anger and frustration. This unrolls itself in music and lyrics and thankfully the kitchen of the new house is sorted-out enough to sit at the table with my guitar and recycle my own anger and frustration as it seeps out of the daily sponge into songs and songs and songs, with Whippersnapper clumping about on the piano keys next door as a feline accompaniment.
Dong
Dong
DONGGG!!!
Sometimes he frightens himself into an exhilarated state, going crosseyed and yowling like a banshee.
I am just about to go into the studios to listen to some students' recordings. I like this, to be able to help them to make good music and learn how to be confident with technology. I can understand why they want to reject book-learning and just do things.
The problem is that there are lots of people doing things, and the world of music is in a constant state of saturation until fashions move on and leave tiny chinks of opportunity. So I try to explain the power of knowledge, and why it is wise to stockpile ideas so you can think ahead of the obstacles that the various gatekeepers set up to prevent new blood from having access to their precious facilities and money. I'm not sure whether the students understand this until they leave.
That's the only reason I work in education- to give people power. Otherwise I would work in the industry and be rich and cynical, taking power from the creative people and converting it into numbers in my ever-swelling bank account!
I won't be able to have a mega-house concert birthday party this year but next year I think I will arrange a gig that night instead. This year will be about family (an music of course, as we all do something noisy, even Little Bruv who can squeeze a mean tune out of a metal teapot, having learned to play trumpet as a young chap).
This year has been a year of learning: from my kids, my ex-husband, students and friends, and will be celebrated as such.
Some touching things have happened- for Treacle (it's wonderful!), for Gina (at last stepping into the recognition she deserves, not only with The Raincoats but with other ventures too), for Claire and Nadya (two very exciting PHDs which I cannot wait to read!) and for lots of other people I know.
Friday Doggerel
Let's not whine
Bout two thousand and nine
A brand new year
Will soon be here.
Banish blues
And welcome yellows
And we'll all
Be cheerful fellows!
Sorry.
There are shades of badness; we are not making Ugly Ducklings into Swans (many of the students are physically beautiful), but a lot of the time we are making Fireworks into Swans, which is less of a natural progression and more of a challenge.
This isn't everyone, of course, but enough people to cause bouts of physical dread before each teaching day. For this reason I am glad I live far away, driving round the dreamy grey industrial North Circular each morning into a different world of misunderstanding and agression, and back each night to my safe little box, through London's grimy and anonymous underpinnings and into my own anonymous suburb.
I have learned patience and to become a sponge for people's anger and frustration. This unrolls itself in music and lyrics and thankfully the kitchen of the new house is sorted-out enough to sit at the table with my guitar and recycle my own anger and frustration as it seeps out of the daily sponge into songs and songs and songs, with Whippersnapper clumping about on the piano keys next door as a feline accompaniment.
Dong
Dong
DONGGG!!!
Sometimes he frightens himself into an exhilarated state, going crosseyed and yowling like a banshee.
I am just about to go into the studios to listen to some students' recordings. I like this, to be able to help them to make good music and learn how to be confident with technology. I can understand why they want to reject book-learning and just do things.
The problem is that there are lots of people doing things, and the world of music is in a constant state of saturation until fashions move on and leave tiny chinks of opportunity. So I try to explain the power of knowledge, and why it is wise to stockpile ideas so you can think ahead of the obstacles that the various gatekeepers set up to prevent new blood from having access to their precious facilities and money. I'm not sure whether the students understand this until they leave.
That's the only reason I work in education- to give people power. Otherwise I would work in the industry and be rich and cynical, taking power from the creative people and converting it into numbers in my ever-swelling bank account!
I won't be able to have a mega-house concert birthday party this year but next year I think I will arrange a gig that night instead. This year will be about family (an music of course, as we all do something noisy, even Little Bruv who can squeeze a mean tune out of a metal teapot, having learned to play trumpet as a young chap).
This year has been a year of learning: from my kids, my ex-husband, students and friends, and will be celebrated as such.
Some touching things have happened- for Treacle (it's wonderful!), for Gina (at last stepping into the recognition she deserves, not only with The Raincoats but with other ventures too), for Claire and Nadya (two very exciting PHDs which I cannot wait to read!) and for lots of other people I know.
Friday Doggerel
Let's not whine
Bout two thousand and nine
A brand new year
Will soon be here.
Banish blues
And welcome yellows
And we'll all
Be cheerful fellows!
Sorry.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
The Power of Yellow
It's tomorrow, and thank you for your kind messages.
Thank Anish Kapoor too, for I went to his exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts on Tuesday and was bowled over by it.
It was full of adults laughing like children at the cupped and shaped mirrored sculptures, the blood-red wax train and cannon, and the sculpture (I thought it was a painting at first) on the wall that was the yellowest thing I've ever seen, and that made me happy just to gaze at it.
It has been a long time since a visual thing has changed my emotions, but this was just the most happy and beautiful intense yellow that I don't think anyone could feel miserable in front of it. As you passed it, you realised that the intriguing paintwork was actually an illusion, and the deeper yellow centre was actually a hole that went right into the wall.
There was another sculpture I particularly liked, made of huge twisting resin tubes the colour of old dress patterns, marked with little figures and lines in graphite-grey as though it had been made on a small scale with pencil marks and then grown: it had impertinent smooth carmine-red glitter lips pouting out of the top of it, as hard and shiny as the resin tubes were rough-textured.
Like a lot of Anish Kapoor's work, there was a mysterious dark hole which led from the lips into the pipework. It was a sexy French Horn, or a harlot's intestines minus her body, I don't know what it was. But it was funny and beautiful at the same time.
More beautiful things, more beautiful things...
I though of a Christmas concert I went to at the Fridge in Brixton that featured one of my favourite ever bands, The Happy End (Sara Jane Morris era). I even auditioned for them once and failed- I can see why: the band needs a big voice at its helm.
This night, the Fridge stage was decorated with stretched white sheeting, punctuated by miniature Christmas trees all lit up; the band sat amongst them, brass instruments twinkling, all their different personalities radiating from the stage as they tumbled and swung their way through their set, smiling, concentrating, reminding me of a set of toppling plates that never quite falls over. What a huge engine of sound- just anarchic enough, but with fantastic brass arrangements, not only in sound but also visually- pockets of things to watch popped up this side, that side, all over the place; you couldn't stop watching. And over the lot, Sara Jane Morris's deliciously thick and powerful vocal, the Captain of the Ship (yes, I know it was you really, Mat Fox, but she was the one with the hand on the tiller), bouncing on and curling round those fabulously lush sax, trumpet and trombone sections. They also chose their material really well- not many people play Hanns Eisler and get away with it.
Brilliant.
Come back at once!
Gina is going to Copenhagen with Hayley Newman by train to busk in cafes at the Climate Change conference.What a good idea!
She told me Akiko had given Hayley a copy of my Suburban Pastoral album and this made me feel important and appreciated.
What else? I am thinking about starting up a 'new songs' club in the New Year. A lot of artists get stuck in the rut of old material, even famous ones, and I though it might be nice to create a small and informal night for trying out new stuff. So that's in the pipeline.
On Monday my students (and me) are doing an informal songwriting showcase at Stratford Circus, starting at 8 p.m.
Entry is free but you have to email me if you want to come. Expect a mix of hip hop, electronica and guitar-based music. Something for everybody, I hope, rather than nothing for nobody!
Ah, Old Lady Cat, we'll plant a little juniper tree for you and think about your clear blue gaze.
Aren't humans funny? We have 'house babies' to dote on and we are so upset when they die. We have to remember to love the living too. I have been giving tissues to crying strangers and cup of tea money to people who looked like they needed it this week, after finding it impossible to walk round with the usual hard shell you need to function in a big city like London.
I wish I could be like this all the time.
Thank Anish Kapoor too, for I went to his exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts on Tuesday and was bowled over by it.
It was full of adults laughing like children at the cupped and shaped mirrored sculptures, the blood-red wax train and cannon, and the sculpture (I thought it was a painting at first) on the wall that was the yellowest thing I've ever seen, and that made me happy just to gaze at it.
It has been a long time since a visual thing has changed my emotions, but this was just the most happy and beautiful intense yellow that I don't think anyone could feel miserable in front of it. As you passed it, you realised that the intriguing paintwork was actually an illusion, and the deeper yellow centre was actually a hole that went right into the wall.
There was another sculpture I particularly liked, made of huge twisting resin tubes the colour of old dress patterns, marked with little figures and lines in graphite-grey as though it had been made on a small scale with pencil marks and then grown: it had impertinent smooth carmine-red glitter lips pouting out of the top of it, as hard and shiny as the resin tubes were rough-textured.
Like a lot of Anish Kapoor's work, there was a mysterious dark hole which led from the lips into the pipework. It was a sexy French Horn, or a harlot's intestines minus her body, I don't know what it was. But it was funny and beautiful at the same time.
More beautiful things, more beautiful things...
I though of a Christmas concert I went to at the Fridge in Brixton that featured one of my favourite ever bands, The Happy End (Sara Jane Morris era). I even auditioned for them once and failed- I can see why: the band needs a big voice at its helm.
This night, the Fridge stage was decorated with stretched white sheeting, punctuated by miniature Christmas trees all lit up; the band sat amongst them, brass instruments twinkling, all their different personalities radiating from the stage as they tumbled and swung their way through their set, smiling, concentrating, reminding me of a set of toppling plates that never quite falls over. What a huge engine of sound- just anarchic enough, but with fantastic brass arrangements, not only in sound but also visually- pockets of things to watch popped up this side, that side, all over the place; you couldn't stop watching. And over the lot, Sara Jane Morris's deliciously thick and powerful vocal, the Captain of the Ship (yes, I know it was you really, Mat Fox, but she was the one with the hand on the tiller), bouncing on and curling round those fabulously lush sax, trumpet and trombone sections. They also chose their material really well- not many people play Hanns Eisler and get away with it.
Brilliant.
Come back at once!
Gina is going to Copenhagen with Hayley Newman by train to busk in cafes at the Climate Change conference.What a good idea!
She told me Akiko had given Hayley a copy of my Suburban Pastoral album and this made me feel important and appreciated.
What else? I am thinking about starting up a 'new songs' club in the New Year. A lot of artists get stuck in the rut of old material, even famous ones, and I though it might be nice to create a small and informal night for trying out new stuff. So that's in the pipeline.
On Monday my students (and me) are doing an informal songwriting showcase at Stratford Circus, starting at 8 p.m.
Entry is free but you have to email me if you want to come. Expect a mix of hip hop, electronica and guitar-based music. Something for everybody, I hope, rather than nothing for nobody!
Ah, Old Lady Cat, we'll plant a little juniper tree for you and think about your clear blue gaze.
Aren't humans funny? We have 'house babies' to dote on and we are so upset when they die. We have to remember to love the living too. I have been giving tissues to crying strangers and cup of tea money to people who looked like they needed it this week, after finding it impossible to walk round with the usual hard shell you need to function in a big city like London.
I wish I could be like this all the time.
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Optipet
Poor Old Lady Cat; as she had her operation on Tuesday the vet discovered a raging pancreatic cancer and phoned me to ask permission not to wake her up.
So we have all been in tears, and disbelief at how quickly she became ill. Whippersnapper cat started howling the night before she died, and I guessed that we would not see her again.
Years ago, I kept canaries and finches (and a mad budgie with a posh voice), and found their lifespan and vulnerability difficult. I moved to cats because they last a little longer, but it's still hard especially when they've been around for more than 12 years attempting to rule the household with their furry rules.
This is the last miserypost I'm going to do. If I can't think of anything happy, I'll take a sabbatical till January.
Still, I'm an optimist.
See you tomorrow!
So we have all been in tears, and disbelief at how quickly she became ill. Whippersnapper cat started howling the night before she died, and I guessed that we would not see her again.
Years ago, I kept canaries and finches (and a mad budgie with a posh voice), and found their lifespan and vulnerability difficult. I moved to cats because they last a little longer, but it's still hard especially when they've been around for more than 12 years attempting to rule the household with their furry rules.
This is the last miserypost I'm going to do. If I can't think of anything happy, I'll take a sabbatical till January.
Still, I'm an optimist.
See you tomorrow!
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Sunday Lunch
Gina and the girls came (after getting severely lost and having the patience to get on the right road again) and so did Diana. It made home seem like Home and we stuffed our faces on blueberries, raspberries and halva.
It counteracted the feeling I have that we Brits spent too much time laughing at the former East European countries' lack of efficiency. The phone isn't working (again) after they forgot to give me my old number back and it took an extra week to do that, and so I couldn't set up the internet, and so on and so on.
It worked for a while, just to show me it could (what a tease!) and is now as silent as a tomb.
I now speak to telephone helplines in a stupidly slow voice, enunciating each word so carefully that my kitchen is full of spittle, and making the operator repeat everything back to me (they have always misheard at least one word, and that's before the mistakes in their keystrokes) so the whole thing sounds like an early Edison recording, complete with hisses and pops (that's the steam escaping from my ears and my blood vessels bursting with frustration).
At least there is now a guitar propped up in the living room, waiting expectantly for some songs to land in it.
I hear from Martin that their debut Skifflecat day in the north west was a roaring success: their guitars sound great and everyone was fascinated by their tea chest basses. Brilliant!
It counteracted the feeling I have that we Brits spent too much time laughing at the former East European countries' lack of efficiency. The phone isn't working (again) after they forgot to give me my old number back and it took an extra week to do that, and so I couldn't set up the internet, and so on and so on.
It worked for a while, just to show me it could (what a tease!) and is now as silent as a tomb.
I now speak to telephone helplines in a stupidly slow voice, enunciating each word so carefully that my kitchen is full of spittle, and making the operator repeat everything back to me (they have always misheard at least one word, and that's before the mistakes in their keystrokes) so the whole thing sounds like an early Edison recording, complete with hisses and pops (that's the steam escaping from my ears and my blood vessels bursting with frustration).
At least there is now a guitar propped up in the living room, waiting expectantly for some songs to land in it.
I hear from Martin that their debut Skifflecat day in the north west was a roaring success: their guitars sound great and everyone was fascinated by their tea chest basses. Brilliant!
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