Bits

Listening to Zap Mama
Mika has come out as gay. What a surprise.
Coincidences... mentioned Runhild Gammelsaeter at a meeting this morning then was cold-called by Mojo (offering me a smorgasbord of male interest magazines what-a-surprise) but got into conversation with the call centre chap about Doom music (of which Runhild is an exponent) and then while deleting nearly 2,000 spam emails from an account I'm going to be using again, there was the name of a student who had done her thesis on Norwegian heavy metal...)
Read some interesting documentary treatments and a study on the position of women in the physical sciences (no, not fnurr, fnurr- it's a serious and very interesting document)
Threw away my dinner as it had gone off, but had already eaten half of it
Took my car to the MOT station at 7.45 after three hours sleep
Had enough of the Olympics
Did a bit of singing
Talked about academic things with a colleague
Decided I have to start from scratch with an academic paper that I'm writing
Now there's a TV programme about disco. I think I have discovered something new about punk, but that's not exactly inventing the wheel.

Resting

Adam Adamson at the Pussy Riot Demo

Pussy Riot: Free Them

Tomorrow at 3 p.m. meet up and show your support:
The corner of Bayswater Road and Ossington Street, London W2 (across the road from The Russian Embassy, Kensington
 Palace Gardens)

Little film of the chords to chant to

http://youtu.be/SkrGXeEw-YE

Writing

I am struggling within finishing an academic paper; I have been getting up very early to write before the bustle of the day starts.
One of the hiccups is that I no longer have Word and I'm using an unfamiliar programme to write. I can't get to work to transfer it and type in familiar territory until Team America have gone home after the Olympics.
In some respects it's fun: the bulk of it is written and I'm into slash-and-burn (sorry, editing) mode.
All the stuff about Poly Styrene, which works as a beautiful audio joke, is going to live somewhere else; most of it centres on interviews with Tessa Pollitt and Gina Birch and a lot of it is about reggae.
Later I have to take my car for an MOT which is undoubtedly the most stressful day in a car's short and fruitful life. Please do cross your fingers for me; I have been dreading this day for two weeks!
Back to work.

Liz Fraser at The Queen Elizabeth Hall

Yesterday my friend Jane (who used to be a student at the University of the West and is now the A&R at 4AD who signed Bon Iver, and discovered and signed the tUne-yArDs, Grimes and watch-this space) texted me with the offer of a ticket to Antony Hegarty's Meltdown night that featured Liz Fraser.
Wow! What a brilliant thing to do! I have not seen Jane for ages which made it a double yes please.
The QEH was packed to the rafters with the odd pop star floating about (Romeo from the Magic Numbers, for instance) and an awful lot of chaps who were of the age to have dreamed unsavoury teenage dreams about poor Liz. I am not surprised she's not keen on doing gigs.
It means a lot to see artists (particularly female ones) who started up at the same time as me, and in particular people who John Peel championed, so this was a very special night.
She came on to the stage to an almost Olympian roar and I have to say, she looks amazing, Her hair is almost white and cropped elfin short, and she wore a fitted white jacket and a silver skirt that made her look like the frost queen from a children's fairy tale; and of course the way she looked totally matched that high and ethereal voice.
Much of the time she could give Minnie Riperton a run for her money; but I'm not sure that this was the band for her. At times it was like witnessing a fairy accompanied by elephants, which may well have been a mixing problem but during many of the songs the lower register of her voice was utterly swamped by the big, big bass drum sound and the harsh keyboard samples. Singing over grooves is all very well but Liz, you have earned the right to make your band submit to you!
And what is Rick Wakeman's baby brother doing with you, he of the "I-can-play-two-keyboards on-either-side-of-me-at-once" technique and the Krystle Carrington black twinkly jacket with mega-shoulderpads?
Steve Hillage joined her for one song, which made a welcome change from the thunder.
Once the Cocteau Twins and Massive Attack numbers were out of the way, we could listen to songs that were actually written around her voice, and these were spine-tinglingly beautiful. What did they remind me of? The Cocteau Twins? No, almost Michael Garrick: pastoral-sounding, magic-real and lovely.
Debbie Harry's first London gig in the 1970s and Carmel's gig in Edinburgh on a huge stage in the 1980s both presented the artists in this state of vulnerability, small women facing enormous audiences in cavernous venues that threatened to swamp them.
Thanks partly to a really fantastic light show, Liz managed to overcome this tininess and grow during the concert to fill the very large QEH.
The lights also deserve a mention partly because we were seated behind the lighting engineers and they were quite clearly really enjoying the music, which I found oddly touching, possibly because the sound engineers seemed to be mixing a heavy metal band rather than a woman with a strong but delicate voice who had to trust them to make her heard.
Two encores later, the band left the stage; Liz looked positively relieved. Antony had been grooving enthusiastically all the way through from his seat in front of us.
Verdict? She is a small but perfectly formed star with a lovely, lovely voice that I was completely awed by. If I was God, I'd make her ditch her past and flow into the future with those new songs where her voice is the core of the Universe and the band has to obey. And I would spend as much as I could on a sound engineer who understands that the vocals are the centre of a song especially when it's Liz Fraser singing them. In fact, I'd employ the lighting technicians from the QEH to do my sound.
It was actually a fantastic evening and I felt like I'd been hearing a legend sing. Finish the album Liz- I'll buy it! Your new songs are ace.

Thanks for the ticket Jane, it was a great evening with a good yak as well and I look forward to going to the football with you and Myles as soon as the season starts up again!

ARMCHAIR.... armchair

Gig Cancelled

The promoter of tonight's gig at the Water Rats has dumped me from the bill as he has booked more acts than he needed in order to 'stuff' the bill. This is very poor practice and I would advise any musicians reading this not to have any dealings with the promoter Danny Brewer.

Water Rats, Tuesday

I have a last minute gig at the Water Rats tomorrow (that's Tuesday 7th August) and I will be onstage at 9.00
Please contact me if you would like to go on the guest list (and get in free)
helen_mccookerybook@yahoo.co.uk

The venue address is
328 Gray's Inn Road  London, Greater London WC1X 8BZ
020 3589 5983

Big Up Pussy Riot

How brave they are! It's amazing to see young women taking on the mighty Putin via music and making a mark on the political world across the globe. You have my support 100% Pussy Riot, and it is obvious to anyone watching that your trial is deeply, deeply unjust in the literal sense of the word.

Sticking and Reading

I have just narrowly avoided supergluing two of my fingers together while gluing som draught excluding stuff to the bottom of the door. Offsprog Two and myself have been painting and decorating and I have also spectacularly failed in an attempt at making a raspberry cake.
There's a huge pile of books on the floor, some academic (we haven't had access to the campus during the Olympics so half of my books are here) and some not. As usual I have been plundering local charity shops for crime novels. One, by Lynda La Plante, was so racist that I read it till the end, expecting some sort of ironic twist that never materialised. I read a jolly dark book by Ruth Rendell.. I'm halfway through Max 'battle of' Hastings' autobiography; I got a bit stuck in the bit where he indulges himself in a lot of war stories as told by his relatives. I am also halfway through Women and Madness by Phyllis Chesler,which is an unnerving read for any woman born in the middle of the 20th century; when husbands tired of their wives even in the early part of that century and before, it was common practice to declare them mad and have them committed to an asylum. Having earned this label a mere five years ago, I count myself very lucky to have been born when I was. The book is informative and frightening in equal parts, although the references to the classical stories of gods and goddesses don't add anything to its discourse. It is an essential read and was given to me by Caroline Coon, who was given one in turn by Yoko Ono.
On the academic front, Allan Moore's book Song Means is at the top of the pile; high time someone did it and I'm glad it was he. There is a book called Beautiful Trouble  so I can learn to be politically active, The Great Animal Orchestra by Bernie Krause, a collection of writing called White Riot and also a book, still in my car, that I bought second hand in a quirky pub in Brighton: Dave Haslam's book about Manchester. And I have just finished The Psychopath Test by Jon Ronson, a very useful book as it makes you realise just what a waste of time it is trying to reason with psychopaths, who are readily recognisable from a series of traits that psychologists have identified- and who are disturbingly common in powerful business environments like banking, politics and the like.
All these books... it's the rain! I have a lot of writing to do as well, and sometimes reading the opposite of what I should be writing seems to help.
However, The Great St Trinians Train Robbery is chugging away on the screen, George Cole at his finest bossing fake schoolgirls about, and that's fun. So toodle pip for now!

Removal Man

I am a removal man.
I have done two journeys to and from Leeds this summer, and the same to and from Brighton.
Yesterday was swelteringly humid, but after a humungously stressful day both girls have found places to live.
My car has almost died after being crammed to the roof with various boxes of books, pans and clothing. The seats are torn, the chassis grumbles and the brake discs creak (so do my joints: I am getting too old for regular climbs to the loft balancing boxes on my head).
Sorry to any Brighton friends, mostly when I am there I am troubleshooting (apart from the graduation of course!) so I am not a relaxed visitor stopping by for a cup of tea.

One day....

Olympic Rant

Thank goodness the horrible Boris Johnson has faded out of the limelight and into the sewer with Rupert Murdoch, where he really belongs.
After scaring people out of London with his silly chummy Olympic message, broadcast on every tube platform on the network, he pursued more 'antics' (getting stuck on a zipwire) before the media finally appeared to realise that the Olympic Games is about sporting success and not about bumbling, publicity seeking middle aged men in ill-fitting suits.
What a relief it is to watch young people excelling at sports, and how good it feels that in the UK we have teams that reflect the many different cultures who have made their home here.
I am not into sports at all but you'd have to be an idiot not to see what it means to a lot of people, and not to appreciate what a great supporting crowd there is at every Olympic venue.

Watching Paint Dry

Quite liderally, I'm watching paint dry waiting for second-coat time.
And I have also painted over the cracks if you want another corny catchphrase.
This avo, the plumber is coming to fix the leak in the kitchen sink while I get on the phone to try to get some research funding, and try to knock an academic paper into shape (yet again; it's a very wobbly amoeba). Yet another working summer... a few days off later this month perhaps, early next month perhaps...

Girlfriend in a Comma

Fran Isherwood is a charming and funny poet, and that's what tempted me to go down to the funky little cafe-bar Full Stop in Brick Lane last night. Writing songs, sometimes words literally fail me and it's great to take a tonic in the form of listening to wordsmiths at work and play. I had forgotten how enjoyable poetry nights can be. Last night, I was happily in audience mode although I did take a guitar just in case; sometimes, though, it's good practice to be able to be 'audience' and I often do this at Martin's gigs. Well occasionally, anyway! It was muggy: 100% humidity, I believe. This gave the excursion an atmosphere of being in foreign, which makes the general London summer staycation all the more bearable.

I walked in on a very wry poem about internet- and speed-dating, and soon the evening pulled me into its flow. I can't write about everyone as I didn't catch all the names but... Alan English writes poetry about sport (apt, you may say) and gets hugely excited as he reaches the finishing post (memo to self: climax not an appropriate word here). His poem about Steve Davis being beaten by Dennis Whatsisname (insert correct surname at later date) was very funny (and exciting). Fran Locke's poetry was sourly humorous, looking at the world through a dark glass-half-empty(50 shades of sh*ite); Fran Isherwood treated us to some short, sharp shocks of humour, and Anthony Fairweather, after delivering a poem about not being able to write anything for tonight, put politics into rapid rhythm, warning us about call centres manned (and womanned) by 'some satan or some sataness' and keeping us hanging on a premium-rate line for an eternity. Ever-helpful, he included theSay No To 0870 website as part of the lyric.

I met a woman that I haven't seen for thirty years, as well.
And yes, I did play, Feathers and Daisies about halfway through the evening; regrettably, I left early as travelling on public transport is scary if you leave it too late.
This evening happens last Tuesday of every month; details below so you can put it into your diary!

full stop.

202, Brick Lane, E1 6SA London, United Kingdom

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