Odd, odd... I walked into the venue and there was a student from the University of the East who had insulted me last term and whom I'd reported for his attempts to bully. But the gig was upstairs in this cavernous venue, obviously home to throngs of Arsenal fans at weekends.
I sat and chatted to David Dirickx, another last-minute booking, while the other songwriter, Tom, sat at a table with his girlfriend.
There was no audience at all!
Me and David chatted about fingernails. the Carter scratch, the fact that his girlfriend in Inverness, and eventually the promoter asked him if he'd go on early.
He is inspired by Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan, but actually has one of those big bold voices like Johnny Cash. He plays fluidly, all over the neck of the guitar, and plays harmonica too.
The song Matilda reminded me of a country version of Peter Sarstedt's Where Do You Go To My Lovely, and his other songs displayed a penchant for tense, driving folk. His powerful vocal style came to the fore in Blue Eyed Son, where he accompanied himself with his foot in a flip-flop attached to a half-tambourine.
One to watch, because he has one of those long-lasting voices and a definite style of his own!
His audience member came in halfway through; mine managed to turn up in time for my set (hi Dave!)
Meanwhile, Tom was performing his catchy songs on a very beaten-up graffiti'd guitar with a plastic rope strap; I have his CD to listen to.
Singing to six people is just as important as singing to sixty, six hundred or six thousand; the PA system was good and next week I'll be attempting to sing and play a totally acoustic set in the studio in four hours to release as my next album so I need all the practice I can get.
And, I have to say, I enjoyed it.
It was better than sitting in the house watching the telly: doing these things makes me feel alive and excited, and always will.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Yesterday's Coincidences
I was just getting ready to go out for dinner with Diana to celebrate her birthday, when I heard noises outside.
A woman had fainted on the street outside my door, and a kind man was phoning for an ambulance. We helped her into the house to keep warm.
'Hey, it looks really different in here' said the man.
"Have you been here before?' I asked him.
'I sold you the house', he replied.
I hadn't recognised him without his spectacles!
Once the lady had been safely taken to hospital, I set off.
The Lorelei is an odd little restaurant in Bateman Street, Soho, devoid of decoration apart from a large greying wall-painting of a mermaid. It's very cheap, however, and the food is lovely. The prawns in the 1970s throwback prawn and avocado starter were proper fresh prawns, not the corky little maggots you sometimes get, and the pizzas were crusty, yeasty and flavoursome. We were an odd bunch of film-makers, musicians and artists.
I sat opposite Judith, whom I have sort of known for years, and she mentioned that she was the Director of the Poetry Society. A dim light bulb (obviously a long-life one) started to illuminate my brain.
'Wasn't there a knit-a-poem competition an few months ago?'
'Yes, that was my idea. I have got the poem rolled up in my car. We are exhibiting it at the moment'.
'Oh yes, I knitted a letter for that but it wasn't very good and I've always assumed it was never used'
'What letter did you knit and what did it look like?'
'I knitted a letter 'H' and it was red and white on turquoise'
'The one with little white dots on it? That was our favourite letter out of 2000 of them, and we used it as the 'H' in Dylan Thomas's surname'.
Stunned and speechless, I set off home on the tube. There was the external examiner of the University of the East getting off the tube at Camden with a cheery smile on his face.
What a funny day.
http://www.poetrysociety.org.uk/content/knit/
A woman had fainted on the street outside my door, and a kind man was phoning for an ambulance. We helped her into the house to keep warm.
'Hey, it looks really different in here' said the man.
"Have you been here before?' I asked him.
'I sold you the house', he replied.
I hadn't recognised him without his spectacles!
Once the lady had been safely taken to hospital, I set off.
The Lorelei is an odd little restaurant in Bateman Street, Soho, devoid of decoration apart from a large greying wall-painting of a mermaid. It's very cheap, however, and the food is lovely. The prawns in the 1970s throwback prawn and avocado starter were proper fresh prawns, not the corky little maggots you sometimes get, and the pizzas were crusty, yeasty and flavoursome. We were an odd bunch of film-makers, musicians and artists.
I sat opposite Judith, whom I have sort of known for years, and she mentioned that she was the Director of the Poetry Society. A dim light bulb (obviously a long-life one) started to illuminate my brain.
'Wasn't there a knit-a-poem competition an few months ago?'
'Yes, that was my idea. I have got the poem rolled up in my car. We are exhibiting it at the moment'.
'Oh yes, I knitted a letter for that but it wasn't very good and I've always assumed it was never used'
'What letter did you knit and what did it look like?'
'I knitted a letter 'H' and it was red and white on turquoise'
'The one with little white dots on it? That was our favourite letter out of 2000 of them, and we used it as the 'H' in Dylan Thomas's surname'.
Stunned and speechless, I set off home on the tube. There was the external examiner of the University of the East getting off the tube at Camden with a cheery smile on his face.
What a funny day.
http://www.poetrysociety.org.uk/content/knit/
Waltzing Away From Winter
I have just recorded a demo, nice'n'cheesy, for you to skate along to.
Alternatively, tie some dusters to your feet and polish your floors while pretending to be skating indoors (doesn't work on carpets).
www.myspace.com/helenmccookerybook
Alternatively, tie some dusters to your feet and polish your floors while pretending to be skating indoors (doesn't work on carpets).
www.myspace.com/helenmccookerybook
Monday, January 11, 2010
Planuary
It all needs to be tidied up, doesn't it.
Life, I mean.
Today I started finishing all the unfinished business from last year, sending off CDs and soon making phone calls.
Arthit from Thailand's Esquire magazine got in touch, asking for a playlist and some artwork and I have done that. I have still not found the lost Chefs badges (sorry Wilky, I'm still looking!).
Dentist this afternoon, ouch!, and Diana's birthday dinner tonight.
Before all that, I am Mrs Scrubbit. The house is grubby from lack of fresh air and overheating; dishes like a diary of the past week are on the draining board waiting to be rebooted, and corners of the kitchen floor look like a horror movie in miniature.
That's because I went with the ever-grumpy Offsprog Two to see Nowhere Boy last night. I loved it. Genius, especially since the words The Beatles were not mentioned once in the whole film: very clever. It's a film like a sculpture of different emotions and relationships and it's extremely well cast with a really good understanding of the suddenness of a teenager's dedication to music and the uncalculating way that they relate to each other; and the accidental ways that families work and don't work.
Lots of things really, and I will go to see it again.
I saw Sherlock Holmes in Dublin and I liked that too. It has had some mediocre reviews but that's possibly because it's directed by Guy Ritchie and the reviewers were expecting a taste of nasty violence. It's not there: this is an entertaining and witty take on the hackneyed subject of good old Sherlock, glittering and dark and dirty too, just like my kitchen.
TTFN!
Life, I mean.
Today I started finishing all the unfinished business from last year, sending off CDs and soon making phone calls.
Arthit from Thailand's Esquire magazine got in touch, asking for a playlist and some artwork and I have done that. I have still not found the lost Chefs badges (sorry Wilky, I'm still looking!).
Dentist this afternoon, ouch!, and Diana's birthday dinner tonight.
Before all that, I am Mrs Scrubbit. The house is grubby from lack of fresh air and overheating; dishes like a diary of the past week are on the draining board waiting to be rebooted, and corners of the kitchen floor look like a horror movie in miniature.
That's because I went with the ever-grumpy Offsprog Two to see Nowhere Boy last night. I loved it. Genius, especially since the words The Beatles were not mentioned once in the whole film: very clever. It's a film like a sculpture of different emotions and relationships and it's extremely well cast with a really good understanding of the suddenness of a teenager's dedication to music and the uncalculating way that they relate to each other; and the accidental ways that families work and don't work.
Lots of things really, and I will go to see it again.
I saw Sherlock Holmes in Dublin and I liked that too. It has had some mediocre reviews but that's possibly because it's directed by Guy Ritchie and the reviewers were expecting a taste of nasty violence. It's not there: this is an entertaining and witty take on the hackneyed subject of good old Sherlock, glittering and dark and dirty too, just like my kitchen.
TTFN!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Tuesday 12th January
I have a last-minute gig on Tuesday evening (12th January) in Islington:
I will be on stage at 9.30 p.m. and will be playing a half-hour set. Entry is £3.00 Phibbers, 203 Holloway Road, Islington, N7 8DL (close to Holloway Road and Highbury & Islington tubes).
Please come along and support me if you can!
www.myspace.com/helenmccookerybook
I will be on stage at 9.30 p.m. and will be playing a half-hour set. Entry is £3.00 Phibbers, 203 Holloway Road, Islington, N7 8DL (close to Holloway Road and Highbury & Islington tubes).
Please come along and support me if you can!
www.myspace.com/helenmccookerybook
Saturday, January 09, 2010
Chewable Toothbrushes
Ah, Dr McCookerybook was up before the frozen lark this morning, to drive down to Crouch End to pick Mr Stephenson up for his early flight to Inverness.
He'd done a brilliant gig last night, sold out, warm and friendly and funny, with lots of good singers in the audience who joined in the choruses and more. For Southbound, Jim Morrison's fiddle playing was augmented by a talented harmonica player.
A kindly punter stood at the door, stopping it from slamming and spoiling the music as people piled in.
Yes... Barnet Hill, Muswell Hill, Crouch End Hill; at -3.5 degrees it was a wonder I managed to get to Crouch End given the ice factor. But people were up and driving, carrying motorway salt with their tyres on to the suburban roads and dodging the deep potholes at Muswell Hill.
On the M1, a mad driver shot on the the carriageway just in front of us down a sliproad, crashing straight into the barrier at the central reservation and bouncing across the outside and outer middle lanes. He must have been driving very fast and had hit a patch of ice; Martin called the police, as it looked like a pile-up in waiting.
Later, in the airport I went the the Ladies.
I noticed the little spherical balls of chewable toothbrushes jiggling and rotating in their dispenser on the wall next to the drier as I dried my hands.
How exciting! They had a special jiggler to make people want to buy them!
But no.
As soon as the drier stopped, they stopped too.
So I tested it again... hands under the nozzle, on went the drier... 'Whoooosh!'
Jiggle, jiggle, twizzle twizzle, went the little balls of chewable toothbrush.
It was the vibrations from the hand-drier that were agitating them.
Sorry. These tiny things in life never cease to amaze me.
Do try it, next time you have a few minutes to spare at Luton Airport.
He'd done a brilliant gig last night, sold out, warm and friendly and funny, with lots of good singers in the audience who joined in the choruses and more. For Southbound, Jim Morrison's fiddle playing was augmented by a talented harmonica player.
A kindly punter stood at the door, stopping it from slamming and spoiling the music as people piled in.
Yes... Barnet Hill, Muswell Hill, Crouch End Hill; at -3.5 degrees it was a wonder I managed to get to Crouch End given the ice factor. But people were up and driving, carrying motorway salt with their tyres on to the suburban roads and dodging the deep potholes at Muswell Hill.
On the M1, a mad driver shot on the the carriageway just in front of us down a sliproad, crashing straight into the barrier at the central reservation and bouncing across the outside and outer middle lanes. He must have been driving very fast and had hit a patch of ice; Martin called the police, as it looked like a pile-up in waiting.
Later, in the airport I went the the Ladies.
I noticed the little spherical balls of chewable toothbrushes jiggling and rotating in their dispenser on the wall next to the drier as I dried my hands.
How exciting! They had a special jiggler to make people want to buy them!
But no.
As soon as the drier stopped, they stopped too.
So I tested it again... hands under the nozzle, on went the drier... 'Whoooosh!'
Jiggle, jiggle, twizzle twizzle, went the little balls of chewable toothbrush.
It was the vibrations from the hand-drier that were agitating them.
Sorry. These tiny things in life never cease to amaze me.
Do try it, next time you have a few minutes to spare at Luton Airport.
Friday, January 08, 2010
Raw Poetry night: pictures
The hit of the night was the poet Indigo http://www.myspace.com/indigowilliams, who hailed from Brixton. Her poetry was funny, perceptive and direct, half entertainment and half skilful politics. I can imagine her going far; she far outshone one of the other poets who tried to get us all to chant along to some audience-participation obscenity that you could see coming a mile off. When people do that I feel that they are sidling dangerously close to the power of Hitler, who sailed crowds of people into frighteningly mindless territory that they were too afraid (or sheep-like) to jump ship to get away from.
I don't care how loud a person's voice is or how persuasive their stage persona, comparing people's faces to c*nts (even the word is horrible) is, well, horrible.
All in all, though, it was a refreshingly interesting night with people performing that I've never seen before and a very welcoming vibe from CT and her partner in the band Us!, who unfortunately I missed, but will make sure I catch next time, when I get there early to do the poetry workshop that kicks the whole evening off- what a brilliant idea!
Thursday, January 07, 2010
Been Away
Been Away a couple of snowy days- review of Raw Poetry Night to follow- and Martin's gig at the King's Head in Crouch End tomorrow, I'll be playing a couple of songs too.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Elders 2
Of course, no sooner had I made that posting than a small feature on BBC News aired the views of several very grumpy older people.
C'est la vie!
C'est la vie!
Monday, January 04, 2010
Elders
In the streets, people walk round with thunderous expressions, wrapped in the latest winter fashions, mouths turned down and collars turned up.
It's a different story in the Post Office. The old people are positively bouncing. Their cheeks are rosy beneath their pulled-down knitted hats and they clutch their pension books and bank books in inflexible thick-gloved sheepskin hands.
Their eyes twinkle and they laugh and joke with each other. Winter? Snow? The least of their problems! Ice? Who cares about moving at a snail's safe pace!
They have all the time in the world, and they intend to enjoy every second of it, even the extraordinarily cold and snowy winter.
The normally grumpy Post Office staff have been infected by their good humour, and pause to make conversation with those people who have had to venture out and queue.
This post is dedicated to the old and wise, whoever and wherever they may be!
It's a different story in the Post Office. The old people are positively bouncing. Their cheeks are rosy beneath their pulled-down knitted hats and they clutch their pension books and bank books in inflexible thick-gloved sheepskin hands.
Their eyes twinkle and they laugh and joke with each other. Winter? Snow? The least of their problems! Ice? Who cares about moving at a snail's safe pace!
They have all the time in the world, and they intend to enjoy every second of it, even the extraordinarily cold and snowy winter.
The normally grumpy Post Office staff have been infected by their good humour, and pause to make conversation with those people who have had to venture out and queue.
This post is dedicated to the old and wise, whoever and wherever they may be!
Sunday, January 03, 2010
Skies, Birds, Lovely in January
Yesterday I drove Offsprog One back to Brighton, where her room was dribbling with condensation and colder than it was outside.
I did take this picture of the view out of her living room window, as seagulls arced through the sky and jostled for a chimney-pot perch. I gave her a fan-heater and drank tea before reluctantly leaving her to the chill and damp, an unsuitable studying environment but all too similar to my own Brighton experience years ago.
Beautiful houses, made of paper tissue!
Today's trip was to Oxford, to visit my cousin and his partner (inspiration for Autumn Love) and a large family gathering. The journey was beautiful, a drive past thousands of fanned-out tree skeletons against the cold blue skyline. Up above, planes drew sharp lines in the cloudless blue of the sky like creeping daytime shooting stars, and hefty buzzards with dangerous-looking beaks and tremendous wingspans hovered in the thermal eddies from the motorway, joined occasionally by hungry little kestrels.
January can be a beautiful month; an exciting electricity crackles in the air.
Anticipation, anticipation, a better year ahead, always better!
Saturday, January 02, 2010
First Gig of the Year
RAW BEGINS IT’S NEW YEAR
on MONDAY THE 4th of JANUARY at the
‘CENTRAL STATION’
corner Balfe Street/Wharfdale Road
KINGS CROSS N1 9SD
Kings X station (exit Pentonville) – Caledonian Rd (keep on the left side of the street), pass Tesco – Balfe Street (no more than a minute to ‘CS’)
Poetry Workshop upstairs – 7.30-9pm
Theme this month: ‘What animal would I be and why?’
Prebooked Open Mic – 9pm
Fantastic acts of the spoken and song word!
Not booked? Come 7.45pm for a spontaneous slot or see if you can squeeze in ;-D Just remember
the only rule of RAW: ‘Be original’
And as usual – in no particular order – the prebooked acts so far:
James Hunt & Tom
Two very talented parts of ‘The Black Sparrows’ formerly known as ‘Spitting Feathers’. Look out for their EP which is out in 2010. Here given special 20 minutes!
Tanya Marshall
Deep thinking child of the winter with a heart for all. A Shamanic poet with ancient wisdom and wit.
Dr Focus
Insurp this poet as he comes: blunt, funny, explosive, full of surprise and very much himself!
Pauline St Marie
Girl with the clues and the frankness to share them! Cultural, topical, observant, openminded with intensity…
Indigo Williams
From Brixton to Kings Cross, passing many haunts there between; - honest, truthful words with full stop punch-lines that might not be what one expects... Composed and passionate pieces that touches where they should.
L. Adekunle Salami
A self proclaimed ‘goof’ with a story to every note; but a very stylish ‘goof’ playing his strings with great charisma.
Helen McCookerybook
Bringing fairy dust to the stage with her beautiful songs…
US!
Soundman and Promoter takes to the stage for a moment of indulgent, guitar-driven voodoo rock.
The 4th of January is a celebration welcoming all wonderfully real people to these brilliant new premises!
‘IT IS NOT HOW GOOD YOU ARE – IT IS HOW REAL YOU ARE’
texts to 07908 472 908
Friday, January 01, 2010
New Year's Eve
All night long, delayed text messages bleeped... I was waiting for one from Offsprog One, made up as a lion, to tell me whether she was coming home or not.
Outside, a howling fox complained about the cold to the full extent of its vocabulary.
'Staying at S's' came the text at 3.45 so I went to sleep. Two hours later, subtle crashings and thumpings came from downstairs, and I programmed 999 into my phone and advanced below to confront the burglar.
It was Offsprog One, who had changed her plans and was foraging for food.
What a funny night! On the way to the gig, two young boys-from-the-hood, or rather, boys-from-the-burbs, kept the entire tube carriage entertained. They were wearing headphones and were oblivious to the volume of their conversation. One had a box of chips and the other talked nineteen to the dozen: they bounced around like jumping jack fireworks.
Everyone had innocent-looking bottles of Coke, with not-so-innocent bigger bottles tucked into their coats to top them up with.
Booze ban? Boris, I don't think so!
There were fancy dress parties galore. At Euston, two stocky ravers stood rather mournfully in fluorescent garb, with blue faces. At King's Cross, three little Goths with purple and blue hair sported spiky black fascinators atop their garb (always get them mixed up with amuse-bouches for some reason. Pretentious, moi?) and they huddled around a Plan.
There were lots of loud groups of teenage boys, looking for something but they weren't sure what.
I returned to Barnet alone, and sat with a mince pie and a cup of tea watching Jools Holland.
Have you noticed how he states the obvious? 'Tom Jones has got a face'. Well, I exaggerate... 'Tom Jones, who has been a successful artist for many years'...
Sorry, I'm burbling... but I became a Paolo Nutini fan, because that guy can sing!
Finally for today, love and best wishes to Martin, and Happy New Year to anyone who passes by and trawls through my daily gibberish!
Outside, a howling fox complained about the cold to the full extent of its vocabulary.
'Staying at S's' came the text at 3.45 so I went to sleep. Two hours later, subtle crashings and thumpings came from downstairs, and I programmed 999 into my phone and advanced below to confront the burglar.
It was Offsprog One, who had changed her plans and was foraging for food.
What a funny night! On the way to the gig, two young boys-from-the-hood, or rather, boys-from-the-burbs, kept the entire tube carriage entertained. They were wearing headphones and were oblivious to the volume of their conversation. One had a box of chips and the other talked nineteen to the dozen: they bounced around like jumping jack fireworks.
Everyone had innocent-looking bottles of Coke, with not-so-innocent bigger bottles tucked into their coats to top them up with.
Booze ban? Boris, I don't think so!
There were fancy dress parties galore. At Euston, two stocky ravers stood rather mournfully in fluorescent garb, with blue faces. At King's Cross, three little Goths with purple and blue hair sported spiky black fascinators atop their garb (always get them mixed up with amuse-bouches for some reason. Pretentious, moi?) and they huddled around a Plan.
There were lots of loud groups of teenage boys, looking for something but they weren't sure what.
I returned to Barnet alone, and sat with a mince pie and a cup of tea watching Jools Holland.
Have you noticed how he states the obvious? 'Tom Jones has got a face'. Well, I exaggerate... 'Tom Jones, who has been a successful artist for many years'...
Sorry, I'm burbling... but I became a Paolo Nutini fan, because that guy can sing!
Finally for today, love and best wishes to Martin, and Happy New Year to anyone who passes by and trawls through my daily gibberish!
The Home Office at the Hope and Anchor
Tonight's New Year's Eve treat was a trip to the Hope and Anchor to see The Home Office.
Nadya was a little drummer girl in dark blue sparkly knee-length boots and a dirndl dress that Ari Upp bought her in Stuttgart, with an army hat perched on her head to match that of her partner-in-guitars Peter.
A lone rockabilly stood amongst the punters, and a girl with what appeared to be a carrier bag of breadcrumbs. Was she planning on feeding the ducks?
First up was Domestic Animals, performed in front of a film of static traffic jams and Japanese dolls; it sort of reminded me of the Flying Lizards by way of Daniel Miller. This was catchy!
As a duo they are quirky to look at: Nadya has Audrey Hepburn's cheekbones and childlike aura, whereas Peter has a serious and committed air. Peter looks a little like a German film star, and probably ought to be in black and white. Their humour is sideways and they are exceptionally well-rehearsed, which makes them entertaining to watch. There used to be a lot of little bands like this in the 1980s and they were a joy to see.
I think my favourite song was Nadya's hypnotic Russian-language song over an Adrian Sherwood backing track, which fitted surprisingly well into their light electronica sound.
I also enjoyed It's Not Over, which featured unison singing, All About Love and Artschool, which cocked a subtle snook at Kraftwerk. Last (for me, anyway, because I wanted to avoid the drunks) was a Metropolis-inspired song about work: 'nine till nine to five, five to nine till five', went the lyrics, and the pair jerked like well-oiled machines that finally went wrong at the end of the song. Very funny, deadpanned and sinister!
They are charming and fun, and all of their songs are good. And they are not a replica of anybody else, either, which is pretty hard in this day and age.
I recommend!
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