I have put the windowsill lily in a plastic bag, tidied my desk, danced and ate cheese straws at the Office Party yesterday; there is one more meeting to go. That doesn't count studio training on Thursday, but the tight reins are feeling looser at last. I woke at six, and started singing at seven.
That's the way to do it.
Tuesday, December 19, 2017
Saturday, December 16, 2017
Asbo Derek at Sticky Mike's Frog Bar
In all honesty I was a bit worried about the stickiness, but after consulting with an experienced friend, I decided it was safe.
We had a meeting beforehand in the pub next door, or perhaps a shouting might be a better description. It was very noisy; we have a secret plan, and luckily the noisy people were broadcasting and not receiving, so they didn't find out what it is.
This gig was the launch of an album by the band Dr Razzu, with Asbo Derek double-headlining. The Asbos started with a spot-on parody of The Double Deckers theme tune that segued into Gaudete, alongside a bewildering array of synchronised hand and arm movements and layers of innuendo that would have challenged the most Frankie Howerdest person in the audience. Meanwhile, I struggled into the knitted woollen extra-small Santa dress that stretched to fit a medium/large person in the way that only a Primark woollen can, then hopped up to do Christmas Queen. Bloody good job the backing vocals were bellowed with such spirit. I forgot an entire chorus, and an entire line (Jem shouted 'Christmas' at the top of his voice and disguised the error). Someone filmed it and thankfully I later had the opportunity to beg her not to put it on Youtube.
If I could sing it without dribbling, I'd do a kitchen version. Watch this space or perhaps, don't.
The Asbos were on top form. They had a superb prize or two on offer; a Charles'n'Diana lavender pomander complete with real lavender from Mark's garden for power mincing most mincingly, and an obscene tie that invited the observer to kiss the mistletoe (with downward-pointing arrow), that was won by the best crook-of-the-elbowist. What was alarming about the tie was that on the way to the gig on the train, I'm convinced that I saw a straight-looking businessman wearing one tucked into his jacket.
Oh, Christmas, what you make us do!
Their piece-de-resistance was the crimping of Brian Blaney's hair while he was actually drumming. Brian patiently whacked the skins while his entire barnet was singed into a series of frills, sending gusts of burnt-hair air out into the audience and beyond. The jury's out as to whether this constituted onstage abuse, but Brian got his own back by shouting 'get on with it' at the back of Jem's head as Jem was being particularly voluble. However, Jem uses the fact that his ears point forwards rather than backwards to ignore Brian when he shouts, as do all musicians in a group with a drummer. Having heard Brian's pleas being ignored on other occasions, I am beginning to understand the frustrations of the pitter-patterer at the back of the band, I think. (Jem's words, not mine).
There was a new song, based on an email from the Buddhist Centre itemising all the lost property that had amassed there. The new song struck a tremendous chord in my heart, because the gutter fell off the front of my house this week due to the weight of the snow, and during the thaw a lone beige flip-flop appeared next to the fallen gutter on the pavement. This was oddly disturbing; It's amazing what people don't realise they've lost.
It was fun. I am glad I went, and big thanks to Asbo Derek for inviting me along and singing too.
I also enjoyed the part of Dr Razzu's set that I watched. They are a power-punk band, really- very tightly rehearsed and both the guitarist and bass player have great voices. They have just self-released an album on Bandcamp with all of their songs from the last ten years, which sounds like a great project: self-archiving is the way to go.
Unforchly, I had to leave early to get back to the frozen wastes of north London. It takes three hours (less if I drive, but I fell asleep once at the wheel and will not drive again without a co-pilot). I'd forgotten to eat anything apart from beans on toast for lunch, and by King's Cross I was ravenous. That sandwich on the platform in the wee small hours was possibly the most scrumptious thing I have eaten all year.
Toodle-pip!
We had a meeting beforehand in the pub next door, or perhaps a shouting might be a better description. It was very noisy; we have a secret plan, and luckily the noisy people were broadcasting and not receiving, so they didn't find out what it is.
This gig was the launch of an album by the band Dr Razzu, with Asbo Derek double-headlining. The Asbos started with a spot-on parody of The Double Deckers theme tune that segued into Gaudete, alongside a bewildering array of synchronised hand and arm movements and layers of innuendo that would have challenged the most Frankie Howerdest person in the audience. Meanwhile, I struggled into the knitted woollen extra-small Santa dress that stretched to fit a medium/large person in the way that only a Primark woollen can, then hopped up to do Christmas Queen. Bloody good job the backing vocals were bellowed with such spirit. I forgot an entire chorus, and an entire line (Jem shouted 'Christmas' at the top of his voice and disguised the error). Someone filmed it and thankfully I later had the opportunity to beg her not to put it on Youtube.
If I could sing it without dribbling, I'd do a kitchen version. Watch this space or perhaps, don't.
The Asbos were on top form. They had a superb prize or two on offer; a Charles'n'Diana lavender pomander complete with real lavender from Mark's garden for power mincing most mincingly, and an obscene tie that invited the observer to kiss the mistletoe (with downward-pointing arrow), that was won by the best crook-of-the-elbowist. What was alarming about the tie was that on the way to the gig on the train, I'm convinced that I saw a straight-looking businessman wearing one tucked into his jacket.
Oh, Christmas, what you make us do!
Their piece-de-resistance was the crimping of Brian Blaney's hair while he was actually drumming. Brian patiently whacked the skins while his entire barnet was singed into a series of frills, sending gusts of burnt-hair air out into the audience and beyond. The jury's out as to whether this constituted onstage abuse, but Brian got his own back by shouting 'get on with it' at the back of Jem's head as Jem was being particularly voluble. However, Jem uses the fact that his ears point forwards rather than backwards to ignore Brian when he shouts, as do all musicians in a group with a drummer. Having heard Brian's pleas being ignored on other occasions, I am beginning to understand the frustrations of the pitter-patterer at the back of the band, I think. (Jem's words, not mine).
There was a new song, based on an email from the Buddhist Centre itemising all the lost property that had amassed there. The new song struck a tremendous chord in my heart, because the gutter fell off the front of my house this week due to the weight of the snow, and during the thaw a lone beige flip-flop appeared next to the fallen gutter on the pavement. This was oddly disturbing; It's amazing what people don't realise they've lost.
It was fun. I am glad I went, and big thanks to Asbo Derek for inviting me along and singing too.
I also enjoyed the part of Dr Razzu's set that I watched. They are a power-punk band, really- very tightly rehearsed and both the guitarist and bass player have great voices. They have just self-released an album on Bandcamp with all of their songs from the last ten years, which sounds like a great project: self-archiving is the way to go.
Unforchly, I had to leave early to get back to the frozen wastes of north London. It takes three hours (less if I drive, but I fell asleep once at the wheel and will not drive again without a co-pilot). I'd forgotten to eat anything apart from beans on toast for lunch, and by King's Cross I was ravenous. That sandwich on the platform in the wee small hours was possibly the most scrumptious thing I have eaten all year.
Toodle-pip!
Friday, December 15, 2017
The Christmas Dress
I have allowed myself to be talked into (or emailed into) singing one of my Christmas songs tonight in Brighton with Asbo Derek. Stealth persuasion gets me every time- very crafty. To get my revenge, I've requested that they learn the backing vocals in the hope that the resulting cacophony will disguise the fact that I will forget the words. I always do- fear of forgetting the words means that I forget them, even though I don't forget the words of any other songs.
Call it seasonal amnesia, of even Milk of Magnesia if you want to.
On Wednesday, I remembered seeing Christmas attire in Primark on the way back from the Mike Flowers gig at the 100 Club, and I popped in to buy a Santa dress. Three ferocious shoppers were acting tactically and whipped the dress almost out of my hands as soon as I thought about picking it off the rail. Beaten, but not defeated, I rose at 7 a.m. yesterday and went to Stratford first thing, tumbling into the doors of the Stratford branch and heading straight for the red-and-white things. They only had enormous ones, or an extra small. I bought the extra small, and rushed into another shop to try it on. It took me ten minutes to escape from its red woollen clutches and rather unwisely I snaffled it and then went straight to work before I could regret it.
Oh dear. I look like a complete twat in it. It is far too short, far too tight and makes me look like a mutton dressed as an elf.
Who cares! It's a stupid enough thing to travel all the way to Brighton to play one song that I don't know the words of, with a group of people who probably won't have learned the backing vocals anyway.
In some ways, it makes sense of the whole years' wonderful nonsense!
Brighton, here I come.
Call it seasonal amnesia, of even Milk of Magnesia if you want to.
On Wednesday, I remembered seeing Christmas attire in Primark on the way back from the Mike Flowers gig at the 100 Club, and I popped in to buy a Santa dress. Three ferocious shoppers were acting tactically and whipped the dress almost out of my hands as soon as I thought about picking it off the rail. Beaten, but not defeated, I rose at 7 a.m. yesterday and went to Stratford first thing, tumbling into the doors of the Stratford branch and heading straight for the red-and-white things. They only had enormous ones, or an extra small. I bought the extra small, and rushed into another shop to try it on. It took me ten minutes to escape from its red woollen clutches and rather unwisely I snaffled it and then went straight to work before I could regret it.
Oh dear. I look like a complete twat in it. It is far too short, far too tight and makes me look like a mutton dressed as an elf.
Who cares! It's a stupid enough thing to travel all the way to Brighton to play one song that I don't know the words of, with a group of people who probably won't have learned the backing vocals anyway.
In some ways, it makes sense of the whole years' wonderful nonsense!
Brighton, here I come.
Wednesday, December 13, 2017
Louis Philippe: When Georgie Died
Football writer and songwriter Louis Philippe's tribute to George Best.
Tuesday, December 12, 2017
Shanne Bradley
Yes- her name is Shanne Bradley, not 'unknown woman', and she formed The Nipple Erectors and auditioned Shane McGowan to be in her band. She was one of the first punks and saw The Sex Pistols play at St Albans Art College in 1975.
Just thought I'd mention it.
Just thought I'd mention it.
Mike Flowers Pops
Went to see Mike Flowers Pops last night- what a fantastic night! I couldn't find their best ones on Youtube so have substituted an original for now: Beautiful Balloon and The Candyman were arranged and played exquisitely with perfect collision of sentiment and pure emotion. What a thing to pull off! Loungecore rules!
Pix: The Choir from Windsor (supporting); Karina; Karina plays the saw; me, Shanne and Karina.
Danced until I dropped with Andy and Jaime round the side, where we could hear the brass section in all its glory, and watch the keyboard players glowing with delight.
Pix: The Choir from Windsor (supporting); Karina; Karina plays the saw; me, Shanne and Karina.
Danced until I dropped with Andy and Jaime round the side, where we could hear the brass section in all its glory, and watch the keyboard players glowing with delight.
Sunday, December 10, 2017
In Support Of Musicians Against Homelessness
I’m playing to support @Musicians Against Homelessness #MAH2017, please text MAH to 70004 to donate £3 to Crisis and help homeless people in the UK this winter.
I wrote this with clear lyrics that a child could sing and understand. Thinking about those people in the camps, as well as the people on the streets in our cities, towns and villages. How have we allowed this to happen?
I wrote this with clear lyrics that a child could sing and understand. Thinking about those people in the camps, as well as the people on the streets in our cities, towns and villages. How have we allowed this to happen?
Saturday, December 09, 2017
Hull O'Rileys
Mick, June and Laura had come to pick me up, and when we went in, Subway Sect were sound checking and Mandy was setting up the merch stall. Andy, the promoter, had bought a kettle for £3.00 especially for Vic, who only drinks tea. This was a good move, because that's what I only drink too, so the omens were positive from the start. The DJ was Doodlebugnuggets, who did the Furley and Co. gig in the summer and who has immaculate taste- a smattering of Northern but lots of good other stuff (many thanks for the Mixtape link from Furley and Co. https://www.mixcloud.com/doodlebugnuggets/doodlebug-nuggets-freetownway-3/).
The place is huge, but has perfect sound. I couldn't see the audience, but was heartened to have people join in with The Sea, and indulge in a bit of encouraging heckling here and there.
Afterwards, I realised that Ian Damaged and Duncan had come down (Damaged Goods has a warehouse in Hull) with a bag of Chefs CDs.
Subway Sect took to the stage, Vic had s sip of tea and off they went, in their inimitable way. Mark is playing guitar at the moment, and I was extremely impressed by his ability to scratch his nose mid-solo without losing a beat, carried by the sustain on his guitar. As the band hotted up, Mandy started dancing and soon we were all at it- even Richard Cundill, although he pretended he didn't want to. I understand Ian is a rare dance floor visitor too, but there he was, and in fact there most of us were, using energy we didn't realise that we had, Laura too, all with big smiles on our faces.
We sat down for Hand Job, and nobody but me seemed to notice Vic asking Kevin if he was going to play it on the organ.
It was a right laugh, and they deserved the encore they got after getting so many lazyboneses to their feet. I only wish I had remembered to take some of the curry they had offered with me at the end of the show. All I had to eat was a poppadum, and by lunchtime the next day I was starving (don't even ask about the 7 a.m. train back to work, the visiting lecturer who had to cancel at the last minute, and all the other worky things).
Off they went to Sunderland, Newcastle and Manchester (they hadn't booked the train tickets yet, I believe). I hope we get to do some more gigs together next year, because it's been a good laugh to gig with such great people. Maybe some song writing, perhaps.....
Friday, December 08, 2017
Christmas Eve Airplay
Something to listen to on Christmas Eve! Big thanks to Ralph's Indie Show xxx
Review of Hull O'Riley's to follow (what a larf), been very tired due to travelling straight form Hull to Stratford for lecture yesterday, transferring ProTools files today (lot of swearing at the computer by Jono did the trick!), working on the doc with Gina and copious watching of NCIS this eve.
Review of Hull O'Riley's to follow (what a larf), been very tired due to travelling straight form Hull to Stratford for lecture yesterday, transferring ProTools files today (lot of swearing at the computer by Jono did the trick!), working on the doc with Gina and copious watching of NCIS this eve.
Tuesday, December 05, 2017
O'Riley's, Hull Tomorrow
Last gig of the tour tomorrow which is sort of sad in a way, but it couldn't be with a better crew- it's a support slot with Vic Godard and Subway Sect, and although a mega-cold is looming on the health horizon like a wall of huge clouds, I'm shoving it to one side until next week.
Almost all the spare time I have has been spent writing lectures and doing other University based stuff; sometimes recently it's seemed as though the weekend is a distant concept that only other people have. I thought song writing would cease to happen but it hasn't and it's managed to carve out a tiny space in bits of spare day that used to be filled by watching TV or going to the shops for a bar of chocolate. I almost fell off a cliff when the Apple computer upgrade deleted all the Notes and in spite of trying to get them back (they had saved to a Yahoo account and weren't on the hard drive) almost all of them are missing and the rest consist of the titles only. Goodbye to them; I will just have to think hard about the information that was there, and how to recreate it. It's not the biggest disaster in the Universe.
As usual, this blog posting is being written when I should be doing something else. Everything's packed for Hull but I'm lecturing this afternoon. Kettle on for coffee, than I'll rev up the brain cell that is functioning, and get to work.
Toodle pip!
Almost all the spare time I have has been spent writing lectures and doing other University based stuff; sometimes recently it's seemed as though the weekend is a distant concept that only other people have. I thought song writing would cease to happen but it hasn't and it's managed to carve out a tiny space in bits of spare day that used to be filled by watching TV or going to the shops for a bar of chocolate. I almost fell off a cliff when the Apple computer upgrade deleted all the Notes and in spite of trying to get them back (they had saved to a Yahoo account and weren't on the hard drive) almost all of them are missing and the rest consist of the titles only. Goodbye to them; I will just have to think hard about the information that was there, and how to recreate it. It's not the biggest disaster in the Universe.
As usual, this blog posting is being written when I should be doing something else. Everything's packed for Hull but I'm lecturing this afternoon. Kettle on for coffee, than I'll rev up the brain cell that is functioning, and get to work.
Toodle pip!
Sunday, December 03, 2017
Article in the f-Word
This has just been published in the f-Word; Katy and me sat in her flat and had a talk about song writing one morning. We have often discussed ideas for songs with groups of friends as a song-circle, and we still meet up when we can even though Katy now spends a lot of time in Poland. Each of us has an entire album of songs inspired by our conversations, and it's been a great way to support our writing.
We did a gig together at The Lexington a few weeks ago (and Honey Birch played as well) and this chat happened some time around then. Big up Cazz and Jane for this!
https://www.thefword.org.uk/2017/12/making-music-outside-the-mainstream/
We did a gig together at The Lexington a few weeks ago (and Honey Birch played as well) and this chat happened some time around then. Big up Cazz and Jane for this!
https://www.thefword.org.uk/2017/12/making-music-outside-the-mainstream/
Saturday, December 02, 2017
An Amazing Singer
This is Bridgette Amofah, who came to the University of the East on Thursday to talk to the Professional Practice students about her life as a singer and song writer. She graduated from the University of the West a few years ago and has worked as a solo artist, sung with Brian Ferry and is now singing with Rudimental. It was a completely inspiring talk and the students loved her. The vid shows Bridgette singing one of her own songs in 2013:
Stratford Nativity
It was only there for a few hours, but Saint Nicholas was watching over the Nativity Scene with one of his reindeer on Thursday in Stratford.
Friday, December 01, 2017
Herm
I'm writing a fantastically defiant hymn (or rather herm), to sing every morning, a bit like school assembly but just me and the birds out there in the frosty dawn. I've nicked the melody from a song called Don't Mention their Hands that was written for a musical pantomime version of Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus over a trillion years ago.
There are post-it notes all over the table and the best thing about a private song is that you can sing whatever the hell you like, as loud as you like and as often as you like.
Ha ha!😀
There are post-it notes all over the table and the best thing about a private song is that you can sing whatever the hell you like, as loud as you like and as often as you like.
Ha ha!😀
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