Well, petals...

... just got back from the Park Road Pilot- what an experience! A huge house in Harlesden, wooden floors, scuffed walls, big table groaning under the weight of Eritrean food (yum yum!) glarse of red wine, art on the wall with artist talking about it, very stylish people (we ain't got none of those in High Barnet), friendly Rebecca organiser, the perfect gig. I played unplugged, everybody was quiet and laughed at the funny bits in the lyrics, even the bits I had forgotten were funny, and they clapped a lot, so they must have liked it, and they cheered. I liked it. You must go, it's brilliant. Lucy came and we sat and chatted. We haven't seen each other for ages; she's been writing an unauthorised book on Madonna which I can not wait to read; she's just finished it, and I've just finished mine. But we didn't even talk about that. We talked about something different.
Ah yes, and I have another gig, at the Twelve Bar on the 17th with Martin. But the actual next one is Friday 6th, at The Ship in Borough High Street, with Katy Carr, Sharon Lewis who was in Pooka, and Diana as mistress of ceremonies. It's another unplugged one: all the rage at the moment, innit?

Park Road Pilot, tonight in Harlesden

here's the blurb about tonight's gig, written by Rebecca, the organiser:
this month boasts yet another feast of interdisciplinary creative delights. In the visual arts, we have all manner of mixed media in Alke Schmidt’s deceptively beautiful and thought-provoking works. Andrea de la Dehesa shall lead us into the world of live art with a dance exploration of equilibrium and substantiality. Live music of all sorts will then follow with singer/songwriter Helen McCookerybook and her gentle, jazzy folky melodies of dark undercurrent. Pete too shall be here with his gathered musos to play welcoming the many musicians amongst you, so please do bring instruments if you fancy a live jam! All to be interspersed with the by now well-known readings of subVERSE schnooze...

inspired by subVERSE philosophy, prp will be raising money for Amnesty International (www.amnesty.org) by charging a mere £5 at the door. in order to raise a decent amount of cash, a cheap bar will also feature, so please leave your vintage wines and special brews at home. However, arrive before 9pm and your first drink will be FREE!

we love our contributors and want to keep them happy, therefore screenings and performances will follow a programme which will start at 8pm so feel free to get here early and hang out with the harlesden cats from 6pm onwards.

for more information about this month’s charity, speak to Monsieur Hahn, most probably behind the bar.

For those of you who receive a blank space rather than a flyer, ‘tis all happening on Saturday 31st March and the address is: 18 Park rd. NW10 8TA. The nearest tube is Harlesden on the Bakerloo line. If you are one of the many who come from Hackney like regions, the splendid Silverlink to Willesden Junction is the way forward. And lastly, if you are fond of buses, the 18 will drop you off very near indeed!

Guitar Strings

A few weeks ago my friend Dan told me he'd sent me some guitar strings, with a wound "G" which wouldn't go 'boing' when I played it, a problem Gretsch guitars have. When he played guitar for Naomi Phoenix he played a vintage version of the Green Goddess, and had the same problem that I have.
Well, the strings never turned up, but I've had a really good time imagining what might have happened to them:

1. The postman used them to re-string his tennis racket
2. Local cats grouped together and used them to make a harp in a tree
3. Girls at the local school used them to make exotic hair-decorations
4. A tramp used them to floss his teeth
5. The traffic warden stretched them across the street to trip up the cars

Perhaps, blogifers, you have some suggestions yourselves?

Another small thing: this morning at Heathrow Airport, I pressed the 13 button on the chocolate machine and a bar of Whole Nut came out, without me having to put any money in it.

My gigs, wot this blog was sposed to be abaht

Bet you can't even read it- sorry!

Flop

Well, tonight I am very tired. The book is endless, the end is bookless. I am not as clever as I thought, and I didn't think I was very clever anyway. Not even James Brown telling me to get on up I am a sex machine is working. Everybody else looks tired too- walking past the window yawning, zig-zagging, following their feet, slumping, touching the wall lightly, bags on one shoulder. It's cat's hour, and they're all out slithering under cars, dashing across the road, hiding behind clumps of plants, all going about their business. they know everybody's gardens and everybody's secrets, all the things we don't know, big clumsy beasts that we are.
Yawn.......

Book Cover

Well look, this is my book cover, with Tessa on it. Tessa is quiet and plays bass. Every band needs a quiet person, and the bass player is often neglected, so I chose this to big up the quiet and the boom-boom-boom (see, I know because I used to be one; the bass players are the ones who thump you in the chest and make your hips wiggle). This pic was taken by Caroline Coon.

Thatcher

Going, going, going to the National Sound Archive today to try to find some recordings of nasty shouty Thatcher to compare with soothing Boy George the emollient-voiced womanman for a talk tomorrow about Rock music and national maleness at the beginning of the 1980s.
Will I find any?
I don't know, but if I don't I'll go to the Victoria and Albert museum and look at the mechanical tiger.
Anybody else want to come?

Songbird next Wednesday

Mon Fio are playing. No other band can boast that I danced so much to them I threw up. If you feel that you, too, would like to experience such a thing, I can recommend this night to you wholeheartedly.

Songwriting

Olivia's dad's just walked past, with a smile on his face and his sunglasses on, head tilted towrds the sun. He's a very happy man, he loves his wife and his wife loves him. They go for walks together in the evening, just promenading around, happy in each other's company. He goes out shopping first thing...
Sometimes I see the man from the noodle bar coming back from the supermarket with a huge bag full of loaves of bread. He's my smiling-friend: we always say hello. And I have just started smiling at Mrs Smokinglady with her two children. She is very unhappy, I can feel it, and her face is a bit scary because of that, and I've walked past her without smiling for too long. So now I do it.
In a minute I'm going to East London. I hope I have some songwriters there. I promised to do antything to help them, play guitar, whatver whatever whatever. They are not very confident so I'll have to work hard at giving them a bit of strength 'cos I have a gig for them in May.
So goodbye. Have a nice day, whoever you are and wherever you are.
x

Jocks and Geordies play guitar

Just got back from the guitar weekend in Dumfries- about 20 guitar nerdies and me (guitar nerdy too), sitting in circles playing till we were dazed by chords and sequences. What a lovely thing to do- Friday evening, all day Saturday, and Sunday morning, in a hotel with fantastic grounds next to a river. All sitting round a huge table at mealtimes with the punk waitress yelling out our orders (warning: the guy from Manchester know more dirty jokes than it is healthy to know, although his anecdote about a curry so hot his rear end resembled the Japanese flag was disgustingly funny). Oh I laughed though. Geordie humour is very dry. 'Ah, Scottish Brie... from Scotland'. And Big Jim told a story about a young guitar student who turned up for a lesson with no strings on his guitar. 'Just show us the shapes', he said. I am not sure I can remember anything I learned although it all might miraculously reappear in my brain next time I pick up the guitar. But it was fun, and there was a little concert on the Saturday night. I drove home today in the sunshine feelng on top of the world, even though there is not a single caff on the A1 that sells decent coffee. Thank you Martin for giving me a place on it, and to him, Jim and Gary for showing us so much mind-blowing stuff, and to Andrew for organising it.
N.B. prize for badly-designed bird goes to The Pheasant for having a red eye like a target, and a squawk that can be heard for miles. What's that all about?

Hoots'n'twangs

Off tae Dumfries this morning for the guitar weekend.
Had no time to practice me riffs, I've broken the fingernail on me pinky and I can't read music so will have to look out of the window if they do tablature and then copy someone once they start playing, but what the heck, a weekend of pure nerdiness can't be sneezed at, so off I go, twang-dang-doodle!

A.M.

The perfect surreal start to the day- skipping in the snow in my orange pyjamas.

Fakelyricking

For ages, being a person unable to remember even my own lyrics, let alone anyone else's, I have Fakelyricked. Once, someone said to me, 'Hey, I didn't know the lyrics to that song- what are they?'. 'Smorrdar lartle durr, pinkle twarting doop', I sang, sounding just the same as the singer.
Well, I've just read that Lily Allen's done a version of 'Smile' in Simlish. Simlish is remarkably similar (hurr) to Fakelyric, so I'll be fascinated to hear what the final version sounds like.
The Folk-singer in the Sims has long been a favourite of mine, sitting by the campfire whining away.

Jetzt Kommt Shakey!

There you were, lookin' for Shakin' Stevens all over the place, and where was he hidin'?
Behind this bag in a Charity Shop in Barnet, that's where!
Peek-a-boo, Shakey!

Tricking problems

That's what you have to do, innit?
The scanner won't talk to the computer, or the computer won't talk to the scanner; impasse.
Gonna trick that one by going up the library later and using their gear if I can.
See, technology, you try to silence me, but You Can Not Win.
Meanwhile, I'm going to Colindale newspaper Library, 'cos they've got th Brighton Evening Argus there, and I might at last be able to finish the damn book.