Sunday, December 11, 2016
Dreich
It's dreich outside. Cinnamon toast is the only option; later I'm taking a carload of furniture to Hackney for Offsprog Two.
Friday, December 09, 2016
fRoots January Podcast
The track Pioneer Town from my Anarchy Skiffle album is included in Ian Anderson's January podcast for fRoots magazine here: https://www.podomatic.com/podcasts/froots/episodes/2016-12-06T02_00_00-08_00
I've only got four CD copies left, but it's available to download here as an individual track or an album- and I'll get some more CDs made too.
I've only got four CD copies left, but it's available to download here as an individual track or an album- and I'll get some more CDs made too.
Supporting The Golinski Brothers at The Prince Albert Tomorrow
I'm supporting the Golinski Brothers at The Prince Albert tomorrow, on stage 9 p.m. approximately.
Also at The Water Rats for Amy's Lounge on Monday night (Amy and Jude Cowan also playing), Nottingham Rough Trade for Bras not Bombs on Thursday, and Brighton again on Sunday 17th with Matt Finucane supporting I, Ludicrous.
Also at The Water Rats for Amy's Lounge on Monday night (Amy and Jude Cowan also playing), Nottingham Rough Trade for Bras not Bombs on Thursday, and Brighton again on Sunday 17th with Matt Finucane supporting I, Ludicrous.
Thursday, December 08, 2016
Wednesday, December 07, 2016
Mike Flowers Pops At The 100 Club
It's always great to see a band when you know someone playing in it, and Karina Townsend plays sax with this super big band and so I had to go- especially since Lorraine Bowen was one of the support acts.
I missed Count Indigo because I had to change gear after work, but got there in time for Lorraine, whose songs are exquisitely crafted and funny in equal measure. I particularly like the skiing song that features members of the audience holding up a revolving backdrop made of sheets that was just slightly too small for comfort, which I'm almost sure was deliberate. And we had the Apple Crumble song that so taxed Simon Cowell. Lorraine was sparkly and very much clad in polyester, and was sung along with by the audience with great gusto.
MC for the night was Lenny Beige, also sparkly and with his side-parted unfeasibly black wig.
Excitedly, he introduced us to Mike's band, and finally Mike himself, wearing a suit and tie in Cadbury's Milk Tray colours and a giant sized Playmobil wig, stiff and unwielding and a very odd shade of porridge. This was the revenge of the nerds, a world of fixed smiles to compete with those of synchronised swimmers.
The audience was cool too: lots of nattily dressed chaps in titfers and accompanying ladies in slightly rockabillyish garb. I spotted Duggie Fields in the gloaming, too, but nobody had their nose in the air- it was an exceptionally friendly crowd.
At Aalborg we'd been saying 'Who would ever dare to do a cover of Say a Little Prayer'?' Well: Mike Flowers did, and Do You Know the Way to San José, during which one of the guitar strings had to be deftly twirled into tune, in time. 'Kurt Cobain often trashed that kind of guitar,' observed Mike, drily.
I would not like to be a guitar on the wrong side of Mike Flowers.
A David Bowie medley followed: Ashes to Ashes, Rebel Rebel and even Let's Spend the Night Together all morphed into each other, with not an insincere tear shed for their source. The cover of All Tomorrow's Parties was the primmest I've ever heard, probably best appreciated on a stereogram in a semi in Neasden. And of course Light My Fire was always an easy listening song, and listened even more easily with Mike's immaculately slick arrangements and the tight and yet swingsome playing of the wonderful band. Everyone was great, and I was particularly taken by the Carmen-Roller-tunnels hairstyle of one of the women singers.
So we came to Candy Man. Aww..... By this time I was dancing like a loon. It must be five years since I've danced, and it was so great to dance with abandon, without care: arms, legs, head, bum, feet, all over the place just like everyone else. By the time we got to Candy Man, the whole experience had become oddly moving. No-one had any inhibitions left; yet this is innocent fun, despite the sophistication of the music.
'That was a feel good song', said Mike, 'And this is a feel even better song!'.
Beautiful Balloon! Arms aloft we all floated up into the sky like the Nimble balloon, into a nostalgic neverland while the Christmas decorations twinkled and the warmth of the venue charmed us into a world without cares and horror just for a tiny fragment of time.
What an amazing evening- such a nice surprise to be so charmed by cheese, and so lovely to listen to Karina play is such a gorgeously lush context.
I missed Count Indigo because I had to change gear after work, but got there in time for Lorraine, whose songs are exquisitely crafted and funny in equal measure. I particularly like the skiing song that features members of the audience holding up a revolving backdrop made of sheets that was just slightly too small for comfort, which I'm almost sure was deliberate. And we had the Apple Crumble song that so taxed Simon Cowell. Lorraine was sparkly and very much clad in polyester, and was sung along with by the audience with great gusto.
MC for the night was Lenny Beige, also sparkly and with his side-parted unfeasibly black wig.
Excitedly, he introduced us to Mike's band, and finally Mike himself, wearing a suit and tie in Cadbury's Milk Tray colours and a giant sized Playmobil wig, stiff and unwielding and a very odd shade of porridge. This was the revenge of the nerds, a world of fixed smiles to compete with those of synchronised swimmers.
The audience was cool too: lots of nattily dressed chaps in titfers and accompanying ladies in slightly rockabillyish garb. I spotted Duggie Fields in the gloaming, too, but nobody had their nose in the air- it was an exceptionally friendly crowd.
At Aalborg we'd been saying 'Who would ever dare to do a cover of Say a Little Prayer'?' Well: Mike Flowers did, and Do You Know the Way to San José, during which one of the guitar strings had to be deftly twirled into tune, in time. 'Kurt Cobain often trashed that kind of guitar,' observed Mike, drily.
I would not like to be a guitar on the wrong side of Mike Flowers.
A David Bowie medley followed: Ashes to Ashes, Rebel Rebel and even Let's Spend the Night Together all morphed into each other, with not an insincere tear shed for their source. The cover of All Tomorrow's Parties was the primmest I've ever heard, probably best appreciated on a stereogram in a semi in Neasden. And of course Light My Fire was always an easy listening song, and listened even more easily with Mike's immaculately slick arrangements and the tight and yet swingsome playing of the wonderful band. Everyone was great, and I was particularly taken by the Carmen-Roller-tunnels hairstyle of one of the women singers.
So we came to Candy Man. Aww..... By this time I was dancing like a loon. It must be five years since I've danced, and it was so great to dance with abandon, without care: arms, legs, head, bum, feet, all over the place just like everyone else. By the time we got to Candy Man, the whole experience had become oddly moving. No-one had any inhibitions left; yet this is innocent fun, despite the sophistication of the music.
'That was a feel good song', said Mike, 'And this is a feel even better song!'.
Beautiful Balloon! Arms aloft we all floated up into the sky like the Nimble balloon, into a nostalgic neverland while the Christmas decorations twinkled and the warmth of the venue charmed us into a world without cares and horror just for a tiny fragment of time.
What an amazing evening- such a nice surprise to be so charmed by cheese, and so lovely to listen to Karina play is such a gorgeously lush context.
Photos: Lorraine Bowen; Jono from work who was taking photos and who has been engineering my album; compere Lenny Beige; Mike Flowers; last but not least, the brass section.
Tuesday, December 06, 2016
A Morning At The University Of the West
And this morning I did a songwriting workshop at the University of the West. Although we wrote a song, it seemed that we worked on the idea of creativity itself, and on not stopping yourself from having ideas by making up rules about what you are allowed to do and what you aren't.
Songs aren't statues that are chipped painstakingly from marble over weeks and weeks; they are in the air, and can be changed endlessly every time you revisit them. We watched and listened to ourselves making decisions, rolling back on them, adapting and shaping, drumming on a box to change rhythms and papering the floor with ideas.
That was good way to spend a morning.
Songs aren't statues that are chipped painstakingly from marble over weeks and weeks; they are in the air, and can be changed endlessly every time you revisit them. We watched and listened to ourselves making decisions, rolling back on them, adapting and shaping, drumming on a box to change rhythms and papering the floor with ideas.
That was good way to spend a morning.
Monday, December 05, 2016
An Afternoon At The University Of The East
It was cold outside. It was cold inside. We couldn't switch off the air conditioning, but our hearts were warmed by our visitor this afternoon.
Katy Carr told us about Polish resistance fighters, about the escape from Auschwitz in The Kommandant's Car, about Polish slaves in Siberia, about the Mexicans welcoming Polish refugees with flowers and cheers after their experience in US transit camps, and sang lovely songs with the uke, including the Polish Boy Scout's song that they sang quietly whenever it was safe in the forest where they were hiding. We listened to tracks from her albums; it was an afternoon of storytelling and songs and an emotional connection with other people seeking asylum in another era. We lost the walls around out feelings, and we shared yesterday's sorrow alongside today's music and lyrics.
What a year you've been, 2016.
I don't like you one bit and I am looking forward to you going away.
Katy Carr told us about Polish resistance fighters, about the escape from Auschwitz in The Kommandant's Car, about Polish slaves in Siberia, about the Mexicans welcoming Polish refugees with flowers and cheers after their experience in US transit camps, and sang lovely songs with the uke, including the Polish Boy Scout's song that they sang quietly whenever it was safe in the forest where they were hiding. We listened to tracks from her albums; it was an afternoon of storytelling and songs and an emotional connection with other people seeking asylum in another era. We lost the walls around out feelings, and we shared yesterday's sorrow alongside today's music and lyrics.
What a year you've been, 2016.
I don't like you one bit and I am looking forward to you going away.
Saturday, December 03, 2016
The 7.47 From Aalborg
I watch the flat land turn towards the dawn,
Pickled in grey frost.
Black bird shapes write frantic messages across the sky,
And skeletons of trees reach out their fingers for help.
Struggling and screaming
A new day is born.
Pickled in grey frost.
Black bird shapes write frantic messages across the sky,
And skeletons of trees reach out their fingers for help.
Struggling and screaming
A new day is born.
Thursday, December 01, 2016
Wet
I've arrived but I couldn't work out the tap arrangement in the bathroom cubicle thing. I've just accidentally showered myself with my clothes on. I tried to stop it, but it squirted out even more water; the problem is that you turn the shower on with the sink taps. I'm sure it seemed like a great idea at the time to the architect.
I also feel really embarrassed because I realised that I only tipped the taxi driver 50 pence. I don't know the money here yet, and I was so busy apologising for the British invasion of Somalia that I didn't think it through. I will try to find him tomorrow (his taxi is more like a van so I might be able to) and give him more of a tip.
Not much of a travel adventure diary is it?
Aalborg does have beautiful Christmas lights though- just really, really simple but really, really twinkly.
Goodnight.
I also feel really embarrassed because I realised that I only tipped the taxi driver 50 pence. I don't know the money here yet, and I was so busy apologising for the British invasion of Somalia that I didn't think it through. I will try to find him tomorrow (his taxi is more like a van so I might be able to) and give him more of a tip.
Not much of a travel adventure diary is it?
Aalborg does have beautiful Christmas lights though- just really, really simple but really, really twinkly.
Goodnight.
Travelling Girl
I have been travelling since 8.15 this morning: walk, bus, train, bus, plane, walk, train, train....
In an hour and a half I will be in Aalborg in Denmark (I hope) ready for tomorrow's Art of Record Production Conference.
In the morning there will be a panel, with Katia Isakoff, Susan Schmidt Horning, Paula Woolf and me. In my bit I'll be showing a short and early version of Stories from the She-Punks and talking about recording and the women punk bands of the 1970s. In the afternoon, I will be presenting a paper on entrepreneurship and female producers, and listening to some very interesting people talking about their enthusiasms in great depth.
I'm not going to be at the whole conference and I'll miss Valgeir Sigurosson's keynote (he worked with Bjork), and also some other really interesting papers. I'd arranged to come home early to play a gig which I'm not playing now, but even part of the ARP conference is better than none at all and I'm bloody pleased to be going there. Thanks to the University of the East for paying for part of it, and to me for paying for the rest of it, and to my colleague Steve for covering my lecture today.
For now, I'm sitting in a good-natured scrum of noisy older Danish ladies who seem to have been shopping in Copenhagen, some rushing girls with plaits who hurry up and down the train carriage at regular intervals, and some serious gentlemen with all manner of trendy-looking backpacks.
Why am I blogging? Because I am too tired to do the work-on-the-train that I meant to do (how do people manage to do that?); I've read today's paper from cover to cover, read too much of the new Ian Rankin book (nearly 15 quid! I bought the giant version by accident); read the free copy of the Independent that I got at the airport; eaten a big fat cinnamon bun and drunk a cup of coffee; and I'm too afraid to go to sleep in case I end up back in Copenhagen again after a four hour train journey in the other direction.
Danish people don't sound quite so like Geordies as Norwegians do, but they still have that twang.
Just got the fright of my life- the train is going back in the direction we came in, but the Danish ladies have explained that it goes in a circle. That doesn't quite make sense but I'm going to have to go with the flow- what else can I do?
In an hour and a half I will be in Aalborg in Denmark (I hope) ready for tomorrow's Art of Record Production Conference.
In the morning there will be a panel, with Katia Isakoff, Susan Schmidt Horning, Paula Woolf and me. In my bit I'll be showing a short and early version of Stories from the She-Punks and talking about recording and the women punk bands of the 1970s. In the afternoon, I will be presenting a paper on entrepreneurship and female producers, and listening to some very interesting people talking about their enthusiasms in great depth.
I'm not going to be at the whole conference and I'll miss Valgeir Sigurosson's keynote (he worked with Bjork), and also some other really interesting papers. I'd arranged to come home early to play a gig which I'm not playing now, but even part of the ARP conference is better than none at all and I'm bloody pleased to be going there. Thanks to the University of the East for paying for part of it, and to me for paying for the rest of it, and to my colleague Steve for covering my lecture today.
For now, I'm sitting in a good-natured scrum of noisy older Danish ladies who seem to have been shopping in Copenhagen, some rushing girls with plaits who hurry up and down the train carriage at regular intervals, and some serious gentlemen with all manner of trendy-looking backpacks.
Why am I blogging? Because I am too tired to do the work-on-the-train that I meant to do (how do people manage to do that?); I've read today's paper from cover to cover, read too much of the new Ian Rankin book (nearly 15 quid! I bought the giant version by accident); read the free copy of the Independent that I got at the airport; eaten a big fat cinnamon bun and drunk a cup of coffee; and I'm too afraid to go to sleep in case I end up back in Copenhagen again after a four hour train journey in the other direction.
Danish people don't sound quite so like Geordies as Norwegians do, but they still have that twang.
Just got the fright of my life- the train is going back in the direction we came in, but the Danish ladies have explained that it goes in a circle. That doesn't quite make sense but I'm going to have to go with the flow- what else can I do?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)