Upcoming Gigs

 

Man With Trolley: Tinned Tomatoes, Bags Of Chips And Salad, Rebellion

 

Goose, Reading

 

Man Selling CDs, South Bank, On A Sunny Day

 

Margaux in the Woods

 

Van With The Chefs On The Side

 

Shooting the Breeze

Yesterday afternoon we went up to the woods and took Margaux. I was very worried in case she got dirty, because really she is reserved for another future project. However, it was such a lovely sunny day and it was so tempting to go out somewhere where there might be spring flowers and solitude. I loaded a bag with tools, scissors, string, Margaux and her new hat (which later caused continuity problems), got into my Ugly Painters Trousers (Who me? Or the trousers?) and off we went.

Everything was just as beautiful as you could imagine. There was even a cuckoo mournfully calling in the distance, and there was the occasional family lining up on the little bridge to be photographed under the wisteria. Everything smelled beautiful too, delicate scents only hitting you once you'd passed the little tree that they emanated from.

Margaux enjoyed it, apart from the times her skirt started to fall down, when the string detached from her head, and when she lost a finger. She was so brave about that, that I didn't even know until it was too late. She got to fly, rest on mossy logs amongst black, round toadstools called King Arthur's Cakes, pretend that I was making her out of wood (she was actually made from  £2 bag of air-drying modelling clay from Hobbycraft), and even got an admiring audience from time to time. At one point a delicate little dragonfly flew up close to her to take a look. 

I had my guitar, and mimed a few chords into the fallen trees. I hope the beetles appreciated that. Or should that be The Beatles? Even getting lost in the woods on the way back didn't seem to matter. They had revolved, and up was down and down was up: that always happens when you get lost in the woods. 

Later, a work in progress track about puppets from my new album has been edited to fit the footage. I made a separate special track, but it was too late by then, and that track might end up being a different song.

Back in her plastic bag, Margaux lies atop the printer, next to the radio. Her little blue felt hat has a few twigs on it. The orange beetle that stopped off on the saw blade to check out whether it was edible or not has gone. It was a good day with a sense of purpose, spent in a beautiful place that it's so easy to forget about. This is such a lovely time of year: the sycamore leaves are huge and velvety, plants that will be enormous are small and excited about their potential, and if only the blue tits would stop eating the clematis buds and the pigeons would stop lining up on the bathroom roof to flap down to the bird feeder every time I'm not looking (it's their guilty eyes that are so annoying, pre-guilt before they do the Bad Thing like with children), life would be perfect, at least in the tiny sphere of home.

The album is almost ready for guest musicians, and I've started asking people. I've had two yesses and one no, and meanwhile I'm revving up for singing the lead vocals... I think at last the hay fever is leaving my lungs and heading back to the fields.

Ideas keep arriving in the middle of the night, which is annoying (why don't they arrive in daytime?), but better then than never, I suppose. I've spent this afternoon in the gloom, editing a guitar part so one of my guests doesn't realise what a crap guitarist I am. Don't tell him please! It's done now, took a lot of concentration but it's made a massive difference.

Oh Margaux! Didn't see you sitting there! Sorry about your finger: I'll make you a new one, and also a pet hen if you're very silent and very good.

The Chefs Played ICA Rock Week

I gave Vince Clarke a cough sweet because he had a sore throat.

Millwall Music Springs Back To Life

Through Twitter I received a really touching request from a chap who was preparing his 94-year-old Grandfather's funeral. It was for the music that I wrote with Lester Square for the Millwall documentary No One Likes Us, We Don't Care. What a poignant revival for something that was really an extraordinary and unexpected pleasure to be involved with!

Later, the person who runs the charity podcast for the team also got in touch to ask if he could use it for his next season's podcast, and after checking with the production company and doing a bit of due diligence on the podcast itself, it's going to find a new home there.

Here's the music, in case you've never heard it: https://soundcloud.com/mccookerybook/no-one-likes-us-we-dont-care

There were multiple variations of the track, but this was the best one.

Man With Long Hair Pays Busker With Long Hair By Card On Windy Day

 

Despatch Rider Resting

So many people wear black clothing. There seemed little point in making this a colour drawing, and motorbikes and scooters are difficult to draw, especially in the hour-long slot that I do.

As always, this was drawn while listening to Gideon Coe and Mark Riley. They are very funny, and at points last night I laughed out loud. They have over the months worked out how to engage with each other with respect, which has probably been difficult because Mark Riley appears to be much more naturally extrovert. From the sound of things, he is very aware of this and pulls back to make space for Gideon Coe to interject, by which point in a typical introvert's fashion, Gideon Coe has built up a head of hilarious understated steam, and comes out with a quip which knocks Mark Riley off the pitch. 

You could even hear their producer laughing out loud in the background last night. Blame any wobbly lines on that, if you please.

Also, I have a gig on 28th May at The Water Rats supporting that Australian singer and song writer Liz Stringer, who has a new album release. Tickets here: https://www.wegottickets.com/event/610734

Bristol and More

Oh I do like playing in Bristol! Whether it's the Thunderbolt or the Knowle Constitutional (or that little pub I once played, or Thekla or St George's Chapel or The Trinity back-in-the-day). It's got a good feeling in the air, a bit of excitement, a bit of love. People smile at you in the street, and it's full of not-normals, which is a wonderfully relaxing environment if you have travelled there from the ironed-flat suburbs. Actually, the street I live in isn't too bad, but it's threatened by a bit of a 'we don't do that here' vibe from some other parts of the 'burb.

Up the steep hill I climbed, with my trusty guitar trying to persuade me to stay at the bottom of the hill. No, petal, we have a gig to do and you're going to really enjoy it! The guitar knows, but just likes to make a fuss so that I appreciate its efforts.

Katy and Kevin were there setting up. It's been granted a Community licence, so now officially belongs to their co-operative. They are happy, and double that because they had such a great time playing in Spain (they are The Lovely Basement and have just come back). I love it in venues when people are taking care of the equipment; the chap in the Thunderbolt hoovers the stage before gigs, and Kevin was cleaning the mike stands because they were sticky. It makes you feel cared about, alongside the building and the equipment.

I met The Woodlice, two men who play bass and guitar and sing. It did occur to me in passing that when I was seventeen, I used to listen to two men playing guitars and singing in Wylam Folk Club, and things haven't changed. But of course, they have: everything has. Instead of being cocky w*nkers (sorry polite self, but sometimes...), these chaps were quiet and played a set of tuneful, neat songs that said a lot very concisely. They were the shortest songs I'd heard since The Jeanines played last year in Scotland, and it was a relief to be able to hear messages delivered in such a meticulously-arranged fashion. Their set was almost like a Christmas stocking, full of small surprises to unwrap, and was just right for the occasion.

There was a decent turnout of Charlie Tippers. I'm sure they are a sort of secret Scout troupe or something, with codenames and badges concealed on the wrong side of their jumpers. It is always a delight when they materialise at a gig, and here they were. Tim was rosy with the success of winning a seat on the council, and they have also just released a new album. There was a very relaxed dog in the audience that changed position for each song: sitting up, lying down casually, bolt upright, and so on. I left out my difficult song (can't tell you what it is in case I hex it even more) but added At The Bathing Pond because it felt as though people might enjoy a bit of singing. It was a lovely afternoon. Thank you K and K for inviting me!

On the way home just before the sun went down, the train ambled through Wiltshire, whose trees have grown extra lush with the rain. Illuminated by saturated air, they were more shades of green than you could possibly imagine, glowing like some sort of undersea photograph in an old National Geographic Magazine. The landscape looked double-tinted and magical. I'm so glad I saw that.

Today, even though it's sunny I've been recording and editing. I hated my bloody songs yesterday, but today I think they're brilliant. That always happens. I now need to lose the hay fever so I can sing proper vocals on them.

I was going to go out for a walk, but I'm too lazy now.

Protootles

A bit of cheap and cheerful JV-Wave for Bandcamp Friday tomorrow:

https://helenmccookerybook.bandcamp.com/album/protootles

Elf on Phone

Hotline to Santa Claus, I believe!  It's challenging still to fit a drawing into an hour. Each time there seems to be something different to concentrate on.

I've had a social week, and a rest from recording. Tomorrow, I'll start replacing some dodgy guitar parts. I have been thinking of guest musicians; not many, again, but it's nice to have some other voices in the conversation.

I've also been having a fight with a bank about online payments not being paid, but that's too boring to write about. I think today I just needed to point out that the mundane things of life run alongside all the more exciting things, and compete for energy in a most displeasing way. Funnily enough, you can't shut an account down online. Who would have thought? It's almost as though they want to force you to keep your account with them!

Back to drawing... I'm going to end up with so many of these 'just a glance' drawings that I wonder if I should try to exhibit some of them somewhere. Or maybe sell them. I don't know. I'll just press on and see where they take me; one lot took me to the Earl's Court residency, so there may be a destination hidden around the corner. I like that idea.
 

99

This chap was in Verulam Park, St Albans, last summer. I can't resist a squidgy ice cream, but no flake for me, please.

I've got several photos of ice cream vans. My favourite one isn't a photo, but a memory: the van-owner of the Earl's Court ice cream van stretched out across the two front seats of his van in the dark, eating a Mr Whippy with a look of utter bliss on his face. It would have simply been too intrusive to ask him for a photo, although I did take one with his permission, of him leaning out of the hatch of the van later on.