Down to earth with a bump on Monday innit?
Not such a bad day perhaps: I took some tracks to a studio in Barnet called Earthworks to separate into wav files to send to Ross-shire to be mixed for the Martin and Helen album, Hamilton Square. It was interesting to find a studio so close and I might go there and record a couple of tracks soon just to try it out; it might be the place to record Song Club's Christmas song, too.
Within half an hour, the tracks were on their way to the north of Scotland in a recycled jiffypak. They should have got there today.
Back home, and one powerful cup of coffee later, I was writing my lecture for tonight. I am now teaching MA Audio students at the University of the West, which means reviving a lot of sleeping stuff in the cave of my brain.
The information didn't want to be awakened, telling me I'd promised it a hundred years and the kiss of a prince before it woke up, but I forced it into daylight, an activity that took roughly five hours. Then, of course, unwanted clever thoughts switched on arc lights (not just eco-lightbulbs) in my head all through the night, and they weren't as clever as they thought they were. They woke me, unfairly, and I had to stagger out of bed and write them down, only to be disappointed by their mediocrity in the cold light of day.
So I will be relieved when it's all over at 8 p.m. tonight and I can return home, stupid again.
Tomorrow morning I'm going to meet Gina for posh-frock coffee and to give her a copy of Poetry and Rhyme, and then I've promised myself a trip to the Apple Shop to buy a USB guitar lead so I can record my songs on to Garageband as soon as I think of 'em.
I am even going to keep the computer on the kitchen table, because the kitchen has the best reverb in the house, doncha know!
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Horsebridge
What a lovely evening. We all went and got chips from the best chip shop in Whitstable and took them to the beach to gobble up at sunset. There were the pinprick lights of Southend across the water; there was the vinegar and the pickled onions in our bags of chips, and there we were, talking music-fan small talk until it was gig time. There were Rowen and Ludek, and the entire Brother Tobias Clan (read his blog if you want a gentle Muttley-style laugh every posting-day http://brothertobias.blogspot.com/).
It was all-ages, all-smiles; Neil and Tim had done a grand job as promoters. I enjoyed my set so much I almost talked more than I played, once I discovered that people would laugh at my terrible jokes. Tim came up and joined me to play and sing Freight Train: how flattering to have discovered that he actually knew all the words from days gone by! He has a lovely mellow voice and should do a lot more singing. Martin joined me to play Autumn Love, Heaven Avenue and Loverman. Then it was ransack the rider time, fruit, nuts, coke (the drinky sort), and then time for Martin's set.
He was really funny and there was a perfect group of comedy audience members including a man whose mobile phone clattered loudly out of his pocket on to the wooden floor three times, and a child in the front row who slept through the entire set, waking at the end, to be delighted by Martin playing Postman Pat to him.
It was a good-natured, jolly gig that was a real pleasure to play, and I loved Whitstable itself, which seemed like a manageable Brighton.
This morning, I woke early to a game of table-tennis with a Youth Leader in Faversham, a Vegetarian Chilli at Luton Airport, and saying a sad Goodbye and Good Luck to Tom from the studio, who came to pick up the Rhodes to take to Brighton, before heading off back to Yorkshire and then New York. What a lovely and unexpected surprise- he has given me his drum kit. I will get hold of a set of brushes and learn how to be a rockabilly drummer, just you wait and see!
Thank you Tom for a brilliant working relationship, four years of patience and learning from each other, I wish you the very, very best of luck in New York with the beautiful Lisa. I know you will do well although of course I shall miss you hugely!
Finally, a joke to end Sunday afternoon:
What do you call a Hollywood actress who loves a cup of coffee?
Caffeine Zeta Jones.
It was all-ages, all-smiles; Neil and Tim had done a grand job as promoters. I enjoyed my set so much I almost talked more than I played, once I discovered that people would laugh at my terrible jokes. Tim came up and joined me to play and sing Freight Train: how flattering to have discovered that he actually knew all the words from days gone by! He has a lovely mellow voice and should do a lot more singing. Martin joined me to play Autumn Love, Heaven Avenue and Loverman. Then it was ransack the rider time, fruit, nuts, coke (the drinky sort), and then time for Martin's set.
He was really funny and there was a perfect group of comedy audience members including a man whose mobile phone clattered loudly out of his pocket on to the wooden floor three times, and a child in the front row who slept through the entire set, waking at the end, to be delighted by Martin playing Postman Pat to him.
It was a good-natured, jolly gig that was a real pleasure to play, and I loved Whitstable itself, which seemed like a manageable Brighton.
This morning, I woke early to a game of table-tennis with a Youth Leader in Faversham, a Vegetarian Chilli at Luton Airport, and saying a sad Goodbye and Good Luck to Tom from the studio, who came to pick up the Rhodes to take to Brighton, before heading off back to Yorkshire and then New York. What a lovely and unexpected surprise- he has given me his drum kit. I will get hold of a set of brushes and learn how to be a rockabilly drummer, just you wait and see!
Thank you Tom for a brilliant working relationship, four years of patience and learning from each other, I wish you the very, very best of luck in New York with the beautiful Lisa. I know you will do well although of course I shall miss you hugely!
Finally, a joke to end Sunday afternoon:
What do you call a Hollywood actress who loves a cup of coffee?
Caffeine Zeta Jones.
Friday, September 26, 2008
The Horsebridge in Whitstable
Yes... I started the blog to big-up my gigs!
I am playing at the Horsebridge in Whitstable tomorrow night: that's Saturday to you.
Here's a joke I've probably told you before, even though I'm sure I made it up last night.
What do you call a cat that likes cutting the grass?
A lawn-meower.
Boom
Boom!
I am playing at the Horsebridge in Whitstable tomorrow night: that's Saturday to you.
Here's a joke I've probably told you before, even though I'm sure I made it up last night.
What do you call a cat that likes cutting the grass?
A lawn-meower.
Boom
Boom!
Windey Handles
I've had a nice day today. I had coffee with a friend at St Pancras station, then walked along to Euston to visit Dubula and give him his copy of Poetry and Rhyme. He was intrigued to have played on a track with Gina Birch, and not to have actually met her. That's modern day recording for you!
He's busy mixing some music by a woman called Anjali, who I met, but they weren't ready to play her music to anyone yet. He gave me the CD he's just finished, A Town Called Addis, by Dub Colossus, which is Ethiopian, and released by Real World, and I can't wait to have a listen.
He always has lots of guitars, and his latest is this fabulous Gibson, a copy of a Gretsch, with red-and-white inlays to mark the frets. It's so soft to play! And the best thing, which took him a year to notice (he was annoyed by the little ridges on the machine heads), is that little winders fold out from the machine heads so you can rapidly change a string on stage without any fluffing about with roadies and string-winders, both equally annoying pieces of apparatus. The colour of the guitar is amazing too- Hawaiian evening sun, a sort of deep burnt orange.
After motor-mouthing for about an hour, I set off for Brixton and had a swan round the market, where I purchased two old-skool plastic hairslides and a blue gingham skirt printed with strawberries, with net petticoat, cheapo fifties style, which cost me the princely sum of 99 pence!
I drifted down Coldharbour Lane in the sunshine to the Barrier Block, trying to remember what number Mike and Em's flat was, and took a guess. Luckily, I was right: Em was having a coffee morning in the afternoon in aid of Macmillan Cancer Relief, and she'd made loads of cakes. I had a slice of beetroot cake, fresh from the oven and incredibly edible. I chose it for its pink icing and squidginess and she told me I could eat it because I am thin and high cholesterol levels are sometimes caused by stress. So I believed her.
There was a man with blue hair who was doing psychology research for his PHD and getting donations by getting people to volunteer to do a computer game that he's been trying out on six year olds. I realised that I have never played a computer game before, but I volunteered, and it was fun, actually, and made me wish I was six. Several Actionettes were dotted about in mufti; we drank Earl Grey tea and chatted dreamily as the sun streamed through the windows, puncturing our Autumn time-clocks and taking us all unawares.
After a while, the suburbs called and I hopped on the tube back home, reading a selection of discarded newspapers on the way and unwittingly becoming an expert on the activities of B-list celebrities.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
To My Offspring
I think you probably read this, and think that I can't care much about you as I never mention you.
The opposite is the case; you never know who is reading a blog, and I am respecting your privacy and your right not to be written about. You see, I don't even know if you read it; to some extent, blogging is sanctioned stalking, and for that reason, 99.9 percent of one's life is best kept private.
The opposite is the case; you never know who is reading a blog, and I am respecting your privacy and your right not to be written about. You see, I don't even know if you read it; to some extent, blogging is sanctioned stalking, and for that reason, 99.9 percent of one's life is best kept private.
Socks and Sleeves
When I first went to Brighton Art College, I shared a flat witha girl who was very good at maths, which I wasn't good at at all.
One day, she bought some wool and started to knit some beautiful patterned socks, bright green, red, white, on four needles.
'Oh I wish I could do that!', I said.
'It's really difficult, actually', she told me.
I looked over each evening at TV-watching time; the socks grew, getting more beautiful by the day and by the centimetre.
I was jealous.
One Saturday afternoon when she was out, I picked up her knitting and had a close look to see how it worked.
'Aha!'
I bought some wool and four needles, and started to knit my own coloured socks, because it is not hard to knit patterns at all; it requires patience, but you don't have to be a mathematician.
My socks did not match; I was too bored to copy the first sock, and I also thought it was silly that just because we have two feet we should wear the same sock on each one. This backfired occasionally- once, a child walking behind me whispered loudly to it's mother 'Do you think we should tell that lady she has got a different sock on each foot?'
There is also a thing about sleeves. In The Chefs, I used to take the sleeves off one checked shirt and sew them on to another. I am just about to do that with some shirts that I bought way back in those days. There's a logistical problem: I have three shirts, and I can't work out how to swap sleeves around so they all have different sleeves. I am going to solve this problem the way I solve every problem: staring. If I look at the shirts for long enough, a lightbulb will flick on in my brain and a solution will materialise.
One day, she bought some wool and started to knit some beautiful patterned socks, bright green, red, white, on four needles.
'Oh I wish I could do that!', I said.
'It's really difficult, actually', she told me.
I looked over each evening at TV-watching time; the socks grew, getting more beautiful by the day and by the centimetre.
I was jealous.
One Saturday afternoon when she was out, I picked up her knitting and had a close look to see how it worked.
'Aha!'
I bought some wool and four needles, and started to knit my own coloured socks, because it is not hard to knit patterns at all; it requires patience, but you don't have to be a mathematician.
My socks did not match; I was too bored to copy the first sock, and I also thought it was silly that just because we have two feet we should wear the same sock on each one. This backfired occasionally- once, a child walking behind me whispered loudly to it's mother 'Do you think we should tell that lady she has got a different sock on each foot?'
There is also a thing about sleeves. In The Chefs, I used to take the sleeves off one checked shirt and sew them on to another. I am just about to do that with some shirts that I bought way back in those days. There's a logistical problem: I have three shirts, and I can't work out how to swap sleeves around so they all have different sleeves. I am going to solve this problem the way I solve every problem: staring. If I look at the shirts for long enough, a lightbulb will flick on in my brain and a solution will materialise.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Catholics and Protestants: the Rules
Catholics: have loads of fun, and then feel incredibly guilty afterwards.
Protestants: don't have any fun at all, and still feel incredibly guilty.
Protestants: don't have any fun at all, and still feel incredibly guilty.
Good News
Hooray! Helen and the Horns etc CD is back in stock on the Rough Trade Mail Order website.
And the album I have been recording with Martin is heading towards being complete; and I had a very positive meeting yesterday about some other stuff. It was a scramble to do all this stuff before plunging back into lecturing; I'm just making enquiries about possible places to have a launch party for Poetry and Rhyme, because I Do Like a Good Party!
And the album I have been recording with Martin is heading towards being complete; and I had a very positive meeting yesterday about some other stuff. It was a scramble to do all this stuff before plunging back into lecturing; I'm just making enquiries about possible places to have a launch party for Poetry and Rhyme, because I Do Like a Good Party!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Val Doonican
It has taken me till now to realise that all my life I have been obeying the Knitted One's command to 'Walk tall, walk straight, and look the world right in the eye'. I have been a proud man, and held my head up high, falling down the uncovered drains in my path in the process, but getting a pretty good view of the beautiful sky and stars too. Every time I am scared (lots of the time), I walk tall, in a Doonican way; when I need to feel strong, I recall those Doonican moments and look the world right in the eye. No wonder I became a punk rocker!
Monday, September 22, 2008
Wondering
I wonder if blogs are going out of fashion. Will I still be stumbling along in a year's time, the only person in the world left blogging, oblivious to the fact that no one is reading mine or anyone else's any more? Will I have to buy a large journal and commit private thoughts to paper in the sad hope that someone might be interested at some point in the future?
Instead of pompously thinking 'Helen talks to the world' every morning (a bit like a personalised BBC Radio 4) I will become 'Helen talks to her cats' or 'Helen talks to the milkman' (which I won't, after cancelling the milk when I found BNP leaflets delivered with it two weeks ago).
Actually, I've switched to evening blogging which isn't so good because I am usually tired and make lots of typos, which are a pain to correct. the other thing is that things look different at the end of the day. Mornings, you are full of expectations and dreads, and trying to balance the two; evenings, one has triumphed and the other been defeated and it's not so exciting.
Today has been a good day, though, with odd little quirks like sitting next to a car in a traffic jam that was belting out Gosrap, a genre that I thought had disappeared. It seemed home-made, with the occupants of the car looking proud and embarrassed at the same time (it wasn't very good and I think theyb semi-realised). I had some nice conversations, and overheard some strange ones. Someone had been nicking booze from the Co-op and the Offy and hiding it in the bushes; the check-out staff at the Co-op were chatting about it.
Apart from that, it is possible that my music back-catalogue house may shortly be in order, whcih would be a pleasant end to the year.
Instead of pompously thinking 'Helen talks to the world' every morning (a bit like a personalised BBC Radio 4) I will become 'Helen talks to her cats' or 'Helen talks to the milkman' (which I won't, after cancelling the milk when I found BNP leaflets delivered with it two weeks ago).
Actually, I've switched to evening blogging which isn't so good because I am usually tired and make lots of typos, which are a pain to correct. the other thing is that things look different at the end of the day. Mornings, you are full of expectations and dreads, and trying to balance the two; evenings, one has triumphed and the other been defeated and it's not so exciting.
Today has been a good day, though, with odd little quirks like sitting next to a car in a traffic jam that was belting out Gosrap, a genre that I thought had disappeared. It seemed home-made, with the occupants of the car looking proud and embarrassed at the same time (it wasn't very good and I think theyb semi-realised). I had some nice conversations, and overheard some strange ones. Someone had been nicking booze from the Co-op and the Offy and hiding it in the bushes; the check-out staff at the Co-op were chatting about it.
Apart from that, it is possible that my music back-catalogue house may shortly be in order, whcih would be a pleasant end to the year.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Saturday, September 20, 2008
The self-scuppering life
When I'm feeling negative, I'll tell you why Freight Train by Helen and the Horns wasn't a hit.
Meanwhile, a built-in self-scuppering device is at work. No sooner had Amazon re-posted Poetry and Rhyme, they re-posted it with not the wrong title this time, but the wrong name. I couldn't work out why it wasn't there and for the sake of it did a search under the title, and not my name. They have called me Helen McCookery Book, and there it is.
I could try to get them to sort it out yet again, but then they'd probably call me Hellen instead of Helen. Just anything, really, to make any activity to do with my stuff difficult.
Did I say I wasn't being negative today? Oh yes!
Good things... good things..
I had a wander round East Street market in Walworth yesterday on the way to see Joan Ashworth's film, which is getting better every time I see it. It's a funny market with its own logic. One stall sells Christian fundamentalist items, including a 'lulla-bible' CD to make sure your infant grows up straight and proper, right from the cot. There are amazingly cheap yellow and green jewelled jeans (6 quid) lots of trashy and fantastic jewellery, and I bought two bunches of perfect pink roses for Joan for a fiver.
It used to be the Saturday-morning-shopping street when I lived in Camberwell- there were bread shops, cheese stalls, fish stalls, vegetables... it's gone a bit patent-handbag now, but it's still worth a look. Down the road is Baldwins, which has been done up. Baldwins is a health food store that used to sell sarsaparilla on tap, like a pub. I one saw Ivor Cutler there on his bike, a wraith-like fellow with a strange gleam in his eyes.
Once when I let a giant grey-haired Rastaman with loads of gold rings go first when we were queueing for a sarsaparilla and I'd got distracted by a bottle of fancy bath essence, he treated me to a glass of the delicious sweet froth and we stood for a while in companionship like two old geezers down the pub
Meanwhile, a built-in self-scuppering device is at work. No sooner had Amazon re-posted Poetry and Rhyme, they re-posted it with not the wrong title this time, but the wrong name. I couldn't work out why it wasn't there and for the sake of it did a search under the title, and not my name. They have called me Helen McCookery Book, and there it is.
I could try to get them to sort it out yet again, but then they'd probably call me Hellen instead of Helen. Just anything, really, to make any activity to do with my stuff difficult.
Did I say I wasn't being negative today? Oh yes!
Good things... good things..
I had a wander round East Street market in Walworth yesterday on the way to see Joan Ashworth's film, which is getting better every time I see it. It's a funny market with its own logic. One stall sells Christian fundamentalist items, including a 'lulla-bible' CD to make sure your infant grows up straight and proper, right from the cot. There are amazingly cheap yellow and green jewelled jeans (6 quid) lots of trashy and fantastic jewellery, and I bought two bunches of perfect pink roses for Joan for a fiver.
It used to be the Saturday-morning-shopping street when I lived in Camberwell- there were bread shops, cheese stalls, fish stalls, vegetables... it's gone a bit patent-handbag now, but it's still worth a look. Down the road is Baldwins, which has been done up. Baldwins is a health food store that used to sell sarsaparilla on tap, like a pub. I one saw Ivor Cutler there on his bike, a wraith-like fellow with a strange gleam in his eyes.
Once when I let a giant grey-haired Rastaman with loads of gold rings go first when we were queueing for a sarsaparilla and I'd got distracted by a bottle of fancy bath essence, he treated me to a glass of the delicious sweet froth and we stood for a while in companionship like two old geezers down the pub
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Typo
I know, I know, I wrote pink instead of punk.
I did that yesterday when looking for the punkbrighton website and logged on to a charming gay one instead
I did that yesterday when looking for the punkbrighton website and logged on to a charming gay one instead
Punk Bingo on Saturday Night
On Saturday there is a special Bingo night in Nunhead. I was supposed to be in the house band but it's Big Bruvs birthday, but me and Jane recorded a pink song specially, and it's going to be present, playing on its own chair. I will upload it to Myspace for three nights only!
Saturday 20th September 7.30 - 12 midnight, The Old Nun's Head, 15
Nunhead, Nunhead, SE16
MAPS AND DETAILS:
http://www.fancyapint.com/pubs/pub3620.html
Number 78 Bus from Shoreditch, No 12 from Centre take you there
10 mins rail from London Bridge / Waterloo / Clapham Junction
Saturday 20th September 7.30 - 12 midnight, The Old Nun's Head, 15
Nunhead, Nunhead, SE16
MAPS AND DETAILS:
http://www.fancyapint.com/pubs/pub3620.html
Number 78 Bus from Shoreditch, No 12 from Centre take you there
10 mins rail from London Bridge / Waterloo / Clapham Junction
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