If you build it, they will come...

Did you miss me while I was away? Did you hang my picture on your wall?
Ok, probably not the best lyrics to resurrect the Blog with, but, hey! the '70's were good to me.

So, here's what I 've been up to: Became a Promoter, played my first proper Solo show in 8 years and sang on stage with Mr Jim Boggia.

Last Tuesday night, I put on an evening of Food and Music at the King Eddie in Stratford. I had always thought that the upstairs room at the "Eddie" was the perfect space for this kind of event ever since I played an open mic night there back in January. It just so happened that my stateside chum, Jim Boggia, was embarking on a tour of Europe and looking for "House Concert" style gigs. So, in a huge "let's put aside all this low self esteem and lack of confidence, Son" moment, I mailed him and told him of my thoughts on the King Eddie. "Go for it" came the reply. I then set about pulling together the arrangements for the evening: who would want to go? would they show up? would Jim and I be eating Gourmet food for the rest of the fall? would I choke? should I fake my Orgasms? Did I say that last one out loud? Sorry...

Well, in truth, the night was a fantastic success, with 29 heads chowing down for the dinner and a further 20 odd folks coming along for the music. From the moment I started my set, it just felt right and all those nerves and worries melted away. Here I was, in front of 50 plus folks, singing a bunch of songs which had taken me a lifetime and one year to write and finally realising that its' only gonna happen if you make it happen. It's hard to describe the rest of the night really, as I just closed my eyes and lost myself in what I can only describe as "the moment I 've been waiting for all my life". Without sounding like a born again christian ("No' I'm Brian!"), it was probably the most spiritual moment I have ever encountered. Before I knew it, I was duetting with Jim on The Faces "ooh la la"(a song I used to sing to my son as a nursery rhyme) and actually dedicating it to my Son who was in the audience. No.1 Son is a massive Jim Boggia fan and, for the rest of my days, I will remember his face lighting up as he watched Jim singing with his dad.

As the evening progressed, my friend Jim absolutely blew the crowd away with his set and took the night home with great style and aplomb. Everybody left with a smile on their face and maybe a Boggia cd or two in their pocket, as well. And, as for me, well, let's just say that for the first time ever, I didn't feel out of place on the bill.

It's good to be back...

As You Like It

As a belated Xmas gift from Mrs Terry, we attended "As You Like It" at The Globe Theatre on Saturday evening. The good lady Wife has been there before with her girlfriends, but, I was a Globe Virgin, so to speak. Now, having listened to various opinions of the re-creation of Will's Crib, I was a little wary of a "Disney does Shakespeare" environment. Fear not, my friends, for I shall report nothing, but, good news. The place is beautifully situated on the banks of the Thames (even though it is on the South side, we can forgive them that one indiscretion), with a wonderful view of St. Pauls on the opposite bank. Fast Forward to the play itself and the theatre manages to make you feel that you are part of the performance, even more so when the actors are to be found walking through the audience or perched upon a ledge in the stalls. Thea Sharrock's adaptation is perfectly paced and never has you looking away from the stage for a second. Obviously, having the Bard as the source material gets you off to a flyer, but, all the same the play is handled with great warmth and affection. Even if you are not a fan of Will's works, you will be drawn in by the actors and how they manage to flood the stage with both humour and sheer joy.

So, do yourself a favour and treat your loved one(s) to a Ticket. You will be in the good books for some time to come, I promise thee.

On Quoting Shakespeare by Bernard Levin

If you cannot understand my argument, and declare ``It's Greek to me'', you are quoting Shakespeare; if you claim to be more sinned against than sinning, you are quoting Shakespeare; if you recall your salad days, you are quoting Shakespeare; if you act more in sorrow than in anger; if your wish is farther to the thought; if your lost property has vanished into thin air, you are quoting Shakespeare; if you have ever refused to budge an inch or suffered from green-eyed jealousy, if you have played fast and loose, if you have been tongue-tied, a tower of strength, hoodwinked or in a pickle, if you have knitted your brows, made a virtue of necessity, insisted on fair play, slept not one wink, stood on ceremony, danced attendance (on your lord and master), laughed yourself into stitches, had short shrift, cold comfort or too much of a good thing, if you have seen better days or lived in a fool's paradise -why, be that as it may, the more fool you , for it is a foregone conclusion that you are (as good luck would have it) quoting Shakespeare; if you think it is early days and clear out bag and baggage, if you think it is high time and that that is the long and short of it, if you believe that the game is up and that truth will out even if it involves your own flesh and blood, if you lie low till the crack of doom because you suspect foul play, if you have your teeth set on edge (at one fell swoop) without rhyme or reason, then - to give the devil his due - if the truth were known (for surely you have a tongue in your head) you are quoting Shakespeare; even if you bid me good riddance and send me packing, if you wish I was dead as a door-nail, if you think I am an eyesore, a laughing stock, the devil incarnate, a stony-hearted villain, bloody-minded or a blinking idiot, then - by Jove! O Lord! Tut tut! For goodness' sake! What the dickens! But me no buts! - it is all one to me, for you are quoting Shakespeare.

Bernard Levin

Dear Diary

Looking through some old boxes in the cellar, I came across an old notebook that I had used as a diary, come ideas sketch pad throughout my travels around this island, Earth. I must have gone through one of my "Year Zero" phases at some stage, as there are only two entries left in it, the rest obviously having been dispatched to various waste bins around the globe. Only one of the remaining items is a complete piece, the other being two lines for a song which never made it out of the starting blocks. So, here below, in all it's glory, are my random thoughts and observations made during a trip to New York, Circa 2000, and will give you a glimpse of exactly where my head was at, back then (Man! ~ Counter Culture Ed.).

"There are times when you realise this was not meant to be your day. The street you walk down singles you out as clearly as if you had a neon sign on your head saying "I do not live here, but, I am desperately trying to blend into the background".


"On West 18th Street, a construction worker is wearing exactly the same T-shirt as you. The same T-shirt that you bought last year and thought that you looked so cool in. These are warnings. These are signs that you no longer exude the coolness that comes so naturally, even automatically, with youth. Old passport photos are like sharp sticks prodding your, now plump, body, reminding you that the chances of ever looking that good again are very slim, indeed".


"There are days when you look around and there is not a single person nearby who knows anything about you".

"Sitting outside the Dakota building, thinking about Lennon and singing "In my Life" in your head. A stranger asks to borrow your pen and you feel the moment slip away, almost as if you had never even heard of four lads who shook the world. Then, you are swallowed up in the ceaseless throng of traffic and honking cabs and cold, emotionless faces behind dirty windscreens". Sanitation" reads the sign on the truck, but, you can't help feeling that a little "Salvation" wouldn't go amiss here?"


"The pretty girl on the mobile phone has a smile that can surely travel through the airwaves and, just for a second, you wish that it was you on the other end of the line. Happiness is a Warm Phone".


Obviously, my old pal, low self esteem, was along for ride on that trip. Going forward, the little shit can book his own damn flight...

Island Hoppin'

A very good article on Island Records in Mojo this month and it reminded me of my early introduction into Psychedelia via the majestic "Mr Fantasy" album by Traffic. I was about 14, an aspiring Mod and fellow Mod, Cornelius Bowen, gave me a pair of cream, pin striped, Hipster pants (Nice! ~ Fashion Ed), along with a copy of the "Mr Fantasy" record. I was aiming for a kind of Eddie Phillips from "The Creation" look , but, said Hipster's made me look more like Lou Diamond Phillips and, alas, have long been consigned to fashion faux pas dustbin. Stevie Winwood and his pastoral rock troupe, however, have been with me ever since.

Subconsciously, I already seemed to be aware of Traffic via "Hole in my Shoe", perhaps, from Ed "Stewpot" Stewart's Saturday morning kids radio show, but, when I placed the needle on the groove and "No Face, No Name, No Number" came on, it sounded like an Angel's lament. The next track, "Dear Mr. Fantasy", was like being hit in the head with a shovel, only to find the "Spear and Jackson" held firmly in the grasp of the previously mention cherubic one. Whenever I play the track I still get that exact same feeling. Like any great record, discovered retrospectively, it made me plunder their back catalogue and from the early pop/psychedelic crossovers of "Paper Sun" and "Here We Go 'Round the Mulberry Bush" right up to the title track on "When the Eagle Flies". It was, and still is, a fantastic musical journey and the fact that they were on Island Records, was the icing on the cake. I found my way towards John Martyn, Nick Drake, Free and Bob Marley, just to name, but, a few.

I finally got to see Stevie Winwood last year at the Scala in Kings Cross, and although, his pipes are still in tip-top working order, he was backed by a hideous jazz-fusion type band and I left the gig feeling somewhat deflated. following the 2005 death of Jim Capaldi, in January 2007, there was an all-star benefit gig at The Roundhouse, titled "Dear Mr. Fantasy", and featured Stevie, Weller, Townsend and a host of others, but, at £160 per ticket, I'd have wanted them to play in my f*cking living room for that!

Jim'll Fix It

Today, as they say, was a good day. After months of anxiously awaiting the mailman's footsteps (well, FTP file sharing, but, Hey, allow me the poetic licence), my Hoxton Song finally arrived back from across the pond, complete with magic Jim Boggia fairy dust sprinkled liberally, and I do mean, liberally all over it. The results, as far as I am concerned, are mind blowing. Any musicians out there who have ever recorded their own songs will know that they never seem to sound quite like they do in your head. Well, as of today and a LOT of help from Mr Boggia, I have finally achieved that "Wall of Sound" that I always heard in my head.

Of all the musicians that I have worked with over the years, and this is not a slight against any of them, none really seemed completely tuned into my frequency (Nice! ~ EQ Editor). With "The Boggia", however, it's a whole different ball game. It's akin to being able to dial in Radio Beatles at any point in your song; McCartney-esque Bass guitar = Check! "Your Mother should know" style backing vocals = Check! All in all, absolute Hog Heaven for a Fab Four freak like me.

As usual, you can check it out here or here. There's only one problem having a stellar talent like Jim play on your record; how do you ensure the rest of the tracks stand up tall alongside his one? We'll just have to wait and see on that one...

Miss Dey in Roots

Just when I had contemplated laying the pen to rest, who should pop her pretty little face around the google corner, but, little ol' Susan Dey of The Partidge Family fame. For men of a certain age, Susan was "The" Girl. Not me, obviously, as I was too young and have only discovered her retrospectively, (B*ll*cks ~ Truth Editor). She was pretty hot beyond belief, she was in a band and she had a smile that could stop a nuclear bomb; Yowsa and, indeed, Yowsa! Back then, Kids TV was wholesome entertainment and you had to go to BBC2 for anything remotely subversive. It's not me donning the Rosey goggles either, you all watched the same programs together; whether they were shite or not! I always had a dream (not that kind of dream, you pervs!) that Suzy and I would record a duet and have a worldwide No.1 smash hit; I believe that ship may have sailed.

I guess the modern day equivalent to Suzy is Hannah Montana; don't get me f*ckin' started...

We are not a-Mused

She's gone, She's gone. My beautiful muse has deserted me. I have looked everywhere, but, my woman done left me. I have hit the blogging equivalent of writer's block; Blogger's Nipple, anyone?

Do I blame it on the February Blog Olympics? Did I peak too soon? Who knows? Whatever, it is has upped sticks and vanished. Where do I go from here: Twitter? Twatter is a very lonely place, my friend(s). When you look back at your Blogs, you do get a sense of accomplishment, a finished product as it were. As for Twatter, it has more in common with Haiku than Blogging - random thoughts that do not really require an answer or a response. Now, I am no prolific Blogger, but, even the 1 or 2 comments that do get left from time to time on my pages, do give me a sense of connection with the reader. Perhaps Twizzler isn't for me - we'll see.

If, on your travels, you happen to see a beautiful girl who fills you with a sudden urge to write all your thoughts down , you know where to send her...

It Ain't Me Babe

Checking out the new edition of Uncut magazine, I thumbed through their Bob Dylan fold out, giveaway, freebie, what have you and was struck by how much his Bobness now resembles Vincent Price. All that was needed was for Bob to be holding a jar of Haywards pickled onions and the transformation would have been complete.

I have never really got Dylan; sure I own his albums and am particularly fond of "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan", but, as great a songwriter as he is, I have never really gone Ape over his stuff. I think his songs lend themselves very well to cover versions, but, Sir Bob's voice has never really yanked my particular crank. I went to see Heir Zimmerman at Brixton, about 12 years ago and he was in his "why don't I sing like a Jewish Cantor" period. All reports allude to the fact that Bob has a great, if somewhat dry, sense of humour, but, there's having a laugh and then there's having the piss out of people. Suffice to say, 'twas not a great evening.

Led Zeppelin fall into the same category for me, in so much as I own their records, but, I am still waiting for the hammer (of the Gods) to fall. I still persevere and give the albums a spin every now and then, in the hope that all will be revealed. I know it's all a matter of taste and yadda yadda, but, there is one so called "Classic" Album that, I am afraid, will never reach me and that is "Horses" by Patti Smith. Many years and many spins later and I still reach the same conclusion - Shite!

You're past it, Son

Apologies for the recent dearth of output, but, the lack of my muse, coupled with the good weather has kept me away from 'Tinternet.

Anyhoo, what is about peoples obsession with sell by dates on food? We never had these when I was growing up, we just used our (common) senses. If it looked, smelt or felt bad, then chances are it was bad and it hit the trash accordingly. Nowadays, Mrs T is like a Stormtrooper where these dates are concerned. I can't believe that nobody has invented a reminder device that you attach to food and then it screams blue murder once the expiry date is reached. Then again, I never watch the Home Shopping channels (I am in gainful employment), so it probably does exist. Mrs T is not for changing and items who have outstayed their alloted timeshare in the fridge/food cupboard are quickly dispatched with great gusto - Do not pass Go, Do not collect £200 and Do not leave your disease ridden ass in my larder.

All of this "Zero Tolerance" stance, whilst very amusing, does have me slightly worried. Perhaps part of the reason for my recent bout of insomnia, is that I am scared that I may awake to find myself being dumped, headfirst into the trash can, whilst the good lady makes space for someone slightly fresher.

The supermarkets love Mrs T.

Top 10 Music Videos you want to be in

Who sucked out the Feeling: Superdrag
A bit of acting, coupled with the opportunity to throw in every cliched rock guitar hero jump under the sun. Oh, and it's also one of the best screams in a Rock Chorus. No wonder Dave Grohl is a fan.

Strawberry Fields Forever: The Beatles
Ok, not so much Video, but more Promo film I know, but, you still want to be one of the fab four just to see yourself leaping up into a tree.

I know it's Only Rock 'N' Roll: The Rolling Stones
Foam Party. Gavin and Stacey's cure for Heartbreak, no less.

Danger, High Voltage: Electric Six
Who amongst us could resist a chick whose Hooters light up? Oh, and it has a great opening line - "Fire in the Disco, Fire in the Taco Bell". I feel another Top 10 coming on.,..

Ernie: Benny Hill
In order to change the course of history and give "Two-Ton Ted from Teddington" a good shoe-ing, thus ensuring that Sue continues to provide Our Ernie with his Cocoa three times a week.

Here it comes again: OK Go
A really great, original spin on the Video dance routine by using Treadmills. I once saw them perform a dance routine to their C-C-C-Cinnamon Lips track, as an encore, and it brought the house down. Geek Alert: These dance routines always have the Bass player,Tim Nordwind, lip-synching to Vocalist Damian Kulash's lead vocals.

Baggy Trousers: Madness
The undeniable kings of the comedy video and anything that has a flying Saxophonist in it is ok in my book.

Steam: Peter Gabriel
Sliding up and down on a Bench in a Sauna accompanied by be-towelled Supermodels - what's not to like?

Once in a Lifetime: Talking Heads
You can't not do the "Throw your head backwards" dance when this song comes on in a club.

Sleep Now in Fire: Rage Against the Machine
How amped up would you have been if you had actually managed to cause the doors of the New York Stock Exchange to be closed. The Revoulution will not be Televised, indeed.

N.B. Due to copyright issues, YouTube has had to remove a sh*tload of videos and as such I have been unable to provide proper links for some videos. BooTube...

London Converse(ation)

Age brings many new experiences and among them, for me at least, was Plantar Fasciitis. Flat feet, fallen arches, call it what you will, but, I think it is a condition best described as "like having the soles of your feet beaten with lumps of 4" x 2" for hours on end". After many painful years I finally got them sorted out with the help of some (very) expensive custom made orthotics - insoles to you and I. As a result, two things have returned into my life;

1: The ability to run again (I'm entering the Windsor Half Marathon in september!)
2: The ability to wear Converse "Chuck Taylor" All Star trainers pain free.

Now, this may not seem like a fantastically healthy return on my hefty clog insert investment, but, I believe that Chuck's All Star's are the ultimate Rock 'n' Roll footwear. They look cool with everything from Jeans to Trousers to Shorts and, even, Suits - Hell Yeah! Every Rock Star has courted the "Chuck" at one time or another, and, if they haven't, then they are obviously not a Rock Star. Converse have taken on an almost mythical status among those in the know, so much so, that when I once spied a pristine pair of all-leather "Jack Purcells" (the older brother of the Chuck) in the corner of best pal Christov's room, he looked at me and, with just the hint of a smile on his face, said "For my Wedding". If he ever does trot down the aisle, I'd say it's a good each way bet that his feet will be adorned by said pair of "Jack's".

Someone's sitting there, mate!

Saturday night is Theatre night and Mrs T, Mr. M, Miss F and myself all headed up to the bright lights of the West End in order to catch James McAvoy shine in "Three Days of Rain" at the Apollo Theatre. The term "Stage Presence" does seem to be handed out rather cheaply these days, but, from the moment McAvoy stepped onto the stage, he just held the audience captive and never dropped a beat. Ex-Eastenders hearthrob, Nigel Harman was quite a revelation, too. Both he and Lyndsey Marshal were equally as good as the young McAvoy and I can't recommend this intense and riveting play highly enough.

As Mrs T and I took our seats in the stalls (D9 & D10, in case you are wondering - excellent view too), two old dudes were sitting in Mr. M and Miss F's seats. Fortunately for said wrinklies, Messrs M & F were late and did not make the start of the show (There were allegations, by Miss F, of a late exit by Mr. M from the Irish bar due to Grand Slam Rugby shenigans, but, the jury has yet to deliver it's verdict). When questioned about the validity of their tickets, old dude No.1 muttered something about having seats 5 & 6. Old dude No.2 stayed completely schtum and pretended to search for his last werther's original, obviously realising that it was, indeed, "pants down" time. The Rugby loving, late arrival(s) were led to the bar and then to some seats at the back of the stalls, so our new found, senior citizen friends were able to watch the entire first act in seats D7 & D8. When the lights came on for the intermission, we spotted our original friends and headed towards the bar with them for some much needed libation. A word of warning if you are thinking of catching the show; wear shorts and a T-shirt - it's Africa hot in the Apollo! I can only attribute this wretched heat to the female members of the audience, who must have taken the temperature up to boiling point at the sight of the young McAvoy in boxer shorts. Miss F, of course, constantly dreams would never dream of such a thing! On returning to our seats, Waldorf and Stadler had miraculously managed to find their correct seats some 6 rows back! The second act was thoroughly enjoyed by all four of us and, in our our correct seats, to boot.

Old people - you've got to hand it to them; feigning senility in order to sit in a better seat than the one you actually paid for.

Johnny Hates Jazz

Well, not hate exactly, but, certainly Mr. H, Mr. C, and myself were all "Jazzed out" by the end of my Thursday night gig/birthday party/jazz-athon. Mr. M on the other hand thoroughly enjoyed himself, as per usual, and dug the staggeringly good Jazzers, Salsa Dancers, Flamenco Dancers and Russian Dancers. This probably says more about Mr. M's enviable ability to soak up any experience, new or old, than it does about my problem with Jazz. 'Tis true, I do have certain issues with Jazz. Firstly, I am secretly in awe of their superior musical knowledge/ability. "They know the rules" as Mr. M so succinctly put it. Secondly, I was born and raised, hand-reared if you like, on Pop music and, therefore, after an hour of listening to these cats blowing up a storm, I start "Jonesing" for the safety of the verse/chorus/verse/chorus/middle eight/chorus structure of Pop.

Thursday's gig was to be a double cause for celebration. I was meeting up with and, hopefully, playing with my old band mate, Paul Anderson, for the first time in 25 years. It was also Paul's sax playing friend, Renato's 50th birthday. Now, the night took the form of Jazz (lots of it), special guests (musical and not so musical) and a few songs each from Paul and myself. The one snag was that those Jazz Saxophone cats love to honk and being told that you will be going on "a bit later" or "in a few songs time" in the Jazz world is a hell of a lot longer wait than it would be in the Pop world. So, after arriving at about a quarter past eight, I finally got to sing a few songs at just gone midnight and my old pal, Paul, followed straight after me. The evening turned out to be completely different to my preconceived notion of a semi-band reunion. but, I enjoyed my slot and Renato is a top man, who you just can't help but like. The Jazzers, it has to be said, were all at the very top of their game and really did swing like a suburban married couple, but, the evening, and my relationship with jazz, in particular, is probably best summed up by Mr. H's comment on my performance;

Mr. H: "Michael, When you started singing, I thought to myself, ahh yes, there's the verse, the hook and a chorus too - thank fuck for that!"

Raining (Space)Men

"It's wrong to wish on Space Hardware" sang erstwhile "Bard of Barking", Billy Bragg back in the early '80's. Well, William Bloke, perhaps it's time to update your lyrics to "It's wrong to arse about on the top of fallen Space Hardware".

The above picture shows the Kazakhstanian version of Steptoe and Son surveying their (s)crap metal kingdom. It transpires that a fairly hefty amount of Russian space waste is purposely dumped in this region on the Siberian border. It does, however, have the attraction of being the one place in the world where you can safely utter the phrase "Look, a Spaceship" without being compared to either David Icke or Reg Presley. The only problem is that this phrase will almost certainly be followed by a terse " Fuck you! I saw it first, you Bastard - It's mine"

"Space isn't remote at all. It's only an hour's drive away if your car could go straight upwards"

Top 10 heartbreak vocals (in no particular order)

Because of Toledo: The Blue Nile
Paul Buchanan must be the one of the most cruelly overlooked vocalists of recent years. I'm not sure if he spends the years between Records, hiding away in the Scottish heather fields, but, wherever he disappears to, he must take a big bag of hurt along for the ride.

This Old Heart of Mine: The Isleys Brothers
The "You got me never knowing if I'm coming or going" line just pulls your stomach up to your throat every time.

Here comes those Tears again: Jackson Browne
Although this track sums it up, I could have picked anything from The Pretender record really. Timeless.

Whispering Pines: The Band
Richard Manuel must have eaten nothing but Tears and Heartbreak for a month, before he recorded this vocal take.

Harry Hippie: Bobby Womack
"Man, You wanna help her take the food home and put it on the table" Fuck that, I say it makes you wanna pay off all her debts, and put her kids through college!

I'm so lonesome I could cry: Hank Williams
The way his voice breaks 3/4 of the way through the word lonesome in the first verse, coupled with the Steel guitar and violin would have Norman Hunter crying in his beer.

Ms Anne Thrope: The Honeydogs
The "Schrapnel in bodies" line is about as close as you can get to staring down the barrel of a Gun, real or metaphorically.

Lover, you should have come over: Jeff Buckley
The only time I have ever cried at a gig was watching him sing this - unsurpassable.

River: Joni Mitchell
I discovered this back when I used to borrow records and tapes from the Public Library (remember them?), when she takes the vocal up an octave, you can just picture her sailing out of your life.

A man can't lose what he don't have (Live): The Q-Tips
Long before the big hair, big suits and bankruptcy, Paul Young had the pipes - endorsed by little Stevie Marriot no less. Then again, wee Stevie did like to play with coke and matches!

Away from the Numbers

The "Cooler, Older Brother" syndrome is synonymous with Rock music. If you don't have an older brother, like me, then you usually tend to adopt one. In my case, it was Wayne Waterson, or Wayne R.W. as he liked to be known back then. He was the older brother of my Sister's boyfriend, at the time, and, for a for about a year, maybe almost two, he became my introduction into the world of Music. Even though my Sister's little romantic liaison with Watersen Junior bit the dust, I remained friends with Wayne. He was, as is the requirement, Cool. He was a Mod, he was in a Mod band called The Numbers, played a Hofner Violin guitar (the six string, not the McCartney Bass version), worked for Polydor Records, had a fantastic record collection and wore the actual Stripey Blazer worn by Phil Daniels, in the film Quadrophenia., that he had bought when they sold off all the wardrobe for the film. As I said, he was, Cool. I must have been about 14 years old when I first met him, the Mod revival had just started and the whole smart, clean lined aesthetic just clicked with me. Wayne was probably about 8-10 years older than me and was living the life that I wanted, he had the top floor flat in a tower block across the way from me in Hoxton and it had one of the best views across the city of London that I had ever seen - "Life from a Window", if you will.

Watching his band rehearse, at the local youth centre, I would soon start to have dreams of putting together my own band. Having already begun to learn to play the guitar, just prior to meeting him, he encouraged me to write songs and became almost Mentor-like. His band,The Numbers, played a mix of originals and '60's cover versions, but, cool ''60's songs like The Creation's "Makin' Time" and "She' got Everything", a Kinks 'B' side. A 'B' side? The "Honey to the Bee" attraction of the much lamented, 'B' side is another subject entirely, so I will save that for another post. They even played a TV advert - The 'J' Cloth song - "Washing up, Pots and Pans, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, 'J' Cloth , Cloth" - you couldn't get more Pop/Art if you tried! Along with Wayne's Rhythm Guitar, Gary's Lead Guitar and Vocals, Ian's (Hofner) Bass and Danny "Spanner" on Keith Moon-esque Drums, their originals were 100% Mod. "Lies" (complete with it's backwards guitar), and "Away from the Jam", written in response to The Jam's own "Away from the Numbers", with it's sublime chorus of "I don't wanna be away from Jam, gotta get home as fast as I can" - they were my "Teenage Fanclub" before "Teenage Fanclub" were even a twinkle in the their Scottish, Power-Pop legend producing, parents eyes. Put simply, for a 14 year old boy, they were a complete Headfuck .

I lost touch with Wayne around the time of my first band, The Pleasures, in 1982, but, seem to remember giving him a copy of my first very demo tape. I never heard from or saw him again, apart from an article in the Hackney Gazette about a short film he had made, about a Gorilla, I seem to recall? Then a few years back, I was watching that truly awful surfing film "Blue Juice" set in Cornwall, featuring a pre-Michael Douglas shagging, Catherine Zeta Jones and Sean Pertwee. There was a club scene in it, a Mod-like Disco and, there, throwing some distinctly cool, Mod shapes in the shadows was my old mentor, Wayne R.W. Coming from Hoxton in the '70's, this was tantamount to getting an Oscar!

Via the mighty/evil Facebook, and namely Danny "Spanner", I chanced upon a recent picture of Wayne and Danny together in London and, although the years had rolled, they had both retained their Mod sensibility and, still, looked as "Cool as Fuck".

Down our Street

On a recent trip to Great Ormond Street Hospital with No.2 son, Kian, we stopped in a great little book store, The Lamb Bookshop. This is located in Lamb's Conduit Street, a street that I always think is one of the most quiet, gentle streets in the whole of London. Maybe it has something to do with the historical philantropy surronding the area, maybe this affords it an unspoken respect, but, I'm certain that if you were to shout out loud in that street, the shopkeepers would come out and, with index finger pressed to their lips, actually "Sshhh" you. Back at the book shop, we found that it had a great little, local vibe going on. There was a children's corner, which Kian loved, and we sat there for a good 20 minutes reading everything from Noddy to Dinosaur books. I browsed through the paperbacks and picked up a book by an author that I thought I had read everything by, but, somehow, this one must have escaped me. It looked really good, in a collection of short essays way, rather than his usual novel-type output. I promptly paid for it, along with The Beatles Anthology book (half price - result), some great Maths-help books for Finn and, of course, the Dinosaur book for Kian. We said our goodbyes to the nice lady owner and headed to the Hospital for Kian's appointment.

It was a long wait in the Hospital and, before I knew it, I was a quarter of the way through the book. This is the mark of a great read, you get completely swept up in it, lost in it, even. So good was the book, that I decided to pick up another copy for a friend's upcoming birthday. When I went back into the shop and handed over the book to the nice lady owner, she asked "Haven't you already bought this one today?". I told her that she was correct and then told her about the aforementioned friend's birthday. She looked at me with a smile, the kind that you used to get, on very rare occasions, I might add, in 2nd hand record shops when the guy (they're always Guys) behind the counter let his perma-cool guard down, just long enough, to nod in approval at your purchase. You see, this is the problem with big chain bookstores, all show and no atmosphere. Try getting that look the next time you are in Borders or Books, etc.

Runnin' down a dream

I went for a run today. 4.5 miles to be exact. It was first run since Xmas and Man, did i feel it. I have, only recently, started running again , after a 10 year lay off through injury and it has been somewhat start/stop, if you will excuse the pun. After the first 3 months, I injured my ankle and was out of action for 16 weeks through the entire summer. The only positive was that summer had absolutely no intention of showing up last year, so I didn't really miss any great, scorching days to go running on, but, I never got to rest my ankle in a bucket of ice whilst guzzling down beer in a sun filled garden either. From september onwards, I felt like a train and was hitting the forest trail 3 times a week. Then, my old mortal enemy, Asthma, decided to turn up on the doorstep, laden with suitcases full of coughing fits and wheezy chests and, then, proceeded to stay for the next 2 months.

Todays little jaunt around the park was the first time that Mr. 'H', Mr. 'S' and myself have run together, although the sublime Mr 'S' has been a somewhat, errant training partner of mine for some time. Mr. 'S' is also French and runs like he is on rails, or has his trainers modified to allow him to whizz around a'la "The Jetsons". The 4.5 mile run (or crawl, in my case) left me feeling as if I were breathing through a straw, and not a nice, fat McDonalds one, either, but, more like one stuck to the side of a kid's juice carton. As I struggled on, lagging further and further behind , I realised that it was just another example of that belief that we all subscribe to as we get older - namely, that we are still 16 years old and utterley invincible.

As we said our goodbyes, discussing the run and, in particular, the Frencman's mercurial abilities, Mr 'H' turned to me and, with a knowing smile, said " Do you know what? When he was alongside me, I couldn't even hear him breathing!" I hate the French......

Just write it down

I am in awe of good lyricists. Those who strive to push the boundaries of the Pop song. Sure, "Baby, I luurve you" has it's place in the Tin Pan Alley pantheon, but, the songwriters who manage to comment on the social, political or otherwise element of life, are the one's that I really admire. I could not write a political song, even if I changed my name to "Ernesto Che" and read nothing, but, Karl Marx for a year. I would still end up churning out songs about the fraility of the human condition (namely my own...) because that's where I tend to dwell. Anything else would seem forced and end up sounding like Ric Mayall's "Pollution" skit from "The Young One's".

The great thing about these songwriters is that their lyrics often lead you on to a voyage of discovery. Adam Levy from Honeydogs has always been a fave writer of mine, with a decidedly American take on Costello-esque themes and style. Their 2004 release, 10,000 Years is almost the perfect example of the marriage between classic melodies and thought-provoking lyrics. One among many, great lines on that record is "Time stops everything happening at once". Now given, that is a quote by John Archibald Wheeler, but, it just takes you off in another direction when you start to google that line. Great songwriting should do that and, do it in spades. One of Adam's own song titles is "Dead Stars" and contains the line "By the light of Dead Stars, she learned a secret". Now, I loved this line, not just for it's fantastic imagery, but, because I had written a song, called Smile , with a very similar theme back in 1999. My line was "Wish on every star, like their dead light could ever see you through". And, for that fleeting moment, I felt like I was in the inner circle.

On a not entirely unrelated thread; I once had a very heated argument with an Astronomer in Australia, Ayers Rock to be precise, with me stating that the Stars we could see were already dead and him stating the opposite. In the end, I wanted to shove his telescope "Where the Moon don't shine", but, that's another story, altogether.......

Don't let me down

I never cease to be disappointed in people. Do I expect too much from them. Is my idea of friendship so radically different to theirs. I'm not talking about the "Wouldn't the world be a beautiful place, if we could all just get along" Hippy bullshit, but, the respect that friendship should afford.Recently, an old friendship has hit the rocks. No names, no pack drill, but, suffice to say that the old "you never really know anyone" adage seems to ring true. On the odd occasion that this scenario raises it's ugly head, the temptation to scream "never again" is very real. To give in to these feelings is extremely dangerous, as apathy and indifference that way lie. I would like to think that I am made of "Good Friend" material and that my stock is worth investing in. Certainly, this what I see as the main ingredients required for the melting pot. Sorry, it all got a bit heavy there, for a moment. Time for some light relief, methinks?

Cue Classic Alan Partidge:
Alan: Take a pinch of white man, wrap him up in black skin what’s the next bit?
Michael: Add a dash of blue blood.
Alan: Add a dash of blue blood.
Michael: And a little biddy bit of a Red Indian boy.
Alan: And something else in Geordie.
Michael: This hasn’t been cleaned out for years. Hey, there’s a little Japanese soldier in here still fighting the war!
Alan: Ha ha. You daft racist. Curly black and kinky, mixed with yellow chinky. Can you still say that?
Michael: Oh, aye. You’re all right with that, like, because it’s a race of people, and it’s a food.
Alan: Chinese. Yeah, you’re absolutely right, yeah.

Anyhoo, what I am really trying to get across ,is the fact that some friendships are transitory and some are in it for the long haul. Either way, just remember it's up to you to be the "Best Friend". As for me, am I bitter? No way, dude, but, I did write a cracking song about it though!

I Rock........

Staring it down

I must admit that I feel I am in a minority. The Media Circus that is "Jade Goody" does not sit well with me. I'm not sure if this a reflection of my own fears about mortality or a real objection to her Death being played out in public. I understand the arguments for the 24/7 coverage, the financial security for the family left behind and the hopefully, positive exposure the disease will receive, but, it just seems to blur the lines of reality for me. I guess my main issue is with the programme makers. No matter how hard I try to convince myself that their hearts are in the right place, I cannot get past the words Marketing and Merchandise. Ambulance Chasers, by any other name.

The Lord giveth, The Lord taketh away

As an inhabitant of Planet Rock, I am,obviously, a Heathen, an unbeliever and beyond redemption. My sons, however, are not and are both fully paid up members of the Catholic faith. During today's liturgy, conducted by Mr. M, the question was asked "What will you be giving up for Lent?". No.1 son, Finn, replied " I will giving up collecting "Match-Attax" football cards". Mr. M was suitably impressed and then proceeded to ask the rest of the bairns if they would give up collecting "Gogo's" for Lent. A uniform "Nnnnnnooooooooooooo" was the resounding reply. Outside the church, a rather proud, Mrs. T enquired if Finn was actually going to stick to his promise. " Yes, Mummy" came the reply, " I am going to start collecting "Gogo's" instead".

This is the End

Having only recently entered the Blogging fraternity (what can I say? I'm a late starter), this particular entry marks the end of the February Blog Olympics, whereby the Athletes(?) are required to Blog every day throught the month of February. What you mean you 've never heard of it? Sure, there are only 2 contestants, Masher and my good self, but, Man, What a contest! Blood, Sweat and Tears - none of these apply, well not to me at least. It has however been quite enjoyable watching the quality control dip even further than usual and being "up against the clock" as it were. Going forward, I'm not sure what the output rate will be from yours truly and maybe it is the end, but, I would like to think that, as Richard and Karen put it, "We've only just begun".

I don't give a Sh*t

Finally, the "Greens" have found something more inherently evil than driving a Devil's Chariot (a 4x4 to you and I) around town and you are ALL guilty of this crime. Forget about beating the humble, Gas Guzzling, automobile driver about the head with a lead pipe and project your hatred inwardly. Your predilection for Soft Toilet paper is more environmentally damaging than your daily battle with the speed bumps in your "Chelsea Tractor". Given, that this article only refers to the American Booty, but, surely, it can only be a matter of time before the English Rump receives a good caning.

As for me, I will be using nothing, but, leftover copies of the "Metro" newspaper, when it is "Time to make Toilet". Right, I'm off to make some totally unnecessary journeys in my 4x4......

The Task at Hand

Returning home, later than usual, after my open mic night gig, the reason for this lateness became rather obvious - Mr. M was not there? You see, we tend to take for granted the things that certain friends always do and only when they are not present do we realise what they "bring to the table", as it were. At the end of evening, we said our goodbyes to our gracious host, Kendall, and walked outside to go home. Now, normally at this point, there would be a taxi waiting to whisk us off into the cold night air, bound for Home Sweet 'H', but, after standing outside for 20 mins, shooting the breeze, we all looked at each other and said "You know, we really should get a Taxi". None of us had number for a local firm and why should we? That is Mr.M's job! So, who rose to the challenge, who was the best man for the job, who was to be hailed as our Saviour? Why Miss F, of course! The fact that Miss F is actually Mr. M's wife is a point not entirely lost on the author.

Smile Please, Miss Leibovitz

Credit crunch getting to you? Threat of Redundancy looming? Take comfort in the news that Uber Photographer, Annie Leibovitz has pawned the copyright to her entire canon of work, so that she can raise $16 million to pay of her debts. $16 million! Not a figure to be sniffed at (Cocaine is so '80's?) and one that you will definitely not find stuffed down the back of the sofa (or Settee, for our older viewers). As if that isn't bad enough, the interest rates on these Art - as collateral, loans range from 6% to 16%. It may be a while before the "F's" stop in Casa Leibovitz.

"Start every day with a smile and get it over with" ~W.C. Fields

Dude looks like a Lady

Whoa, stop the press! In a Karma-like reversal of "Life of Brian" and, in particular, the "Are there any Women here today?" scene, check out Mr Cleese's Daughter. I think this requires some serious investigation into the absence/presence of an Adam's Apple? I am also reminded of the "Flight of the Conchords" and their hilarious "Ladies of the World" track;

J: Hermaphrodite
B: Lady-man-ladies
J: Oh you sexy hermaphrodite lady-man-ladies
"With your sexy lady bits
And your sexy man bits too
Even you must be in to you ooo ooo"

I feel a Top Ten " Chicks who look like Dudes" list coming on.

Martin

With the sound of Gulls in our ears, the early afternoon light was gently diffused by the huge stained glass windows. Stood side by side, we said our goodbyes to "The Big Fella". Martin passed away on the last day of January and, today, Family, Friends and Colleagues, headed towards the Sea to say Au Revoir. Afterwards, stories, both tall and small, were told in his honour. We laughed, raised glasses to his memory and watched the ships, rather poignantly, leaving the harbour. In fact, there was only one thing missing - Martin.

Sail on, Big Fella. x

"Dust, Wind, Dude"

Put out an A.P.B. on Patrick Duffy. They have found Atlantis. Yes, the mythical, Utopian paradise, championed by ol' Plato, has been discovered, not by Jacques Cousteau's offspring, but, by Google Ocean, the new Google in town - Google Earth is so last season! Yes, an underwater grid like, network has been discovered on the bottom of the Atlantic, near the Canary Islands. Atlantis trainspotters, sorry, Experts have confirmed that this is one of the possible resting places for the "City that done sank". However, the best observation came from Bernie Bamford, 38, of Chester, who compared it to a plan of that magnificent example of civil engineering "Milton Keynes". "Milton Keynes?" The most talked about lost city of all time and this dufus compares it to soddin' Milton Keynes! When Plato was describing the beauty and wonder of Poseidon's domain, I don't,for one second, believe that he saw a little kid sitting in the back of a chariot, holding a red balloon, and uttering that immortal phrase " Oh no, not another F*ckin' Roundabout"

The Kids are Alright

Take a look at this picture. Where's the Health and Safety aspect here? The Adult to Child ratio is non existent! How dare they have such unsupervised fun.

My son is a member of a Beaver Scouts troop and, during a recent visit to the UK Scout Association's National Headquarters in Gilwell Park, I struck up a conversation with one of the Scout leaders regarding Health and Safety. Now, this young man has been lighting camp fires since the age of 8 and he is now the ripe old age of 19, but, recently he had to attend a Health and Safety course on - yes, you guessed it - Lighting Campfires. There is a place for Health and Safety within every organisation, but, sometimes it just goes too far and sucks the lifeblood out of everything within range.

I watched these kids having fun, the old fashioned way, with not a DS or X-Box in site. They were perfectly well behaved throughout the magic show laid on for them and had all made their own Harry Potter -style, Hats and Wands to wear and wave at the banquet dinner that evening. When I say Banquet, I mean a few tables pushed together, some paintings on the wall and lots and lots of imagination. I came away that evening realising that Kids just want to be Kids and all that they really need is the opportunity to do so - namely, in the middle of a forest, miles away from a TV screen.

Sign of the Times

I was born and raised on a Council estate, sorry, Social Housing development (Arse!). I did not excel at school and neither did I attend a University or College. I do, however, have a great respect for Academia. "Knowledge is Power" said Sir Francis Bacon (I am positive that you cannot get to Kevin Bacon from him in 7 steps) and this is something that has always stuck in my head and, is probably, the main reason for my utter hatred of "Dumbing Down". That constant need to dilute everything until it is almost transparent, until it bears no resemblance to it's original form. Whether it is the Tabloids or Hollywood (Dumbing up?), it just sucks the very essence out of it's subject matter. I am no "Straight A"student, but, I do, in the words of that other famous English philosopher, Jarvis Cocker, have "a thirst for Knowledge". So, it was with a deep sigh of resignation that I read the following headline in Wednesday's Times; "Violent end for the celebrity chimp who savaged handler in drug-fuelled rampage" WTF? I realise that it is no longer a Broadsheet in size, but, did they carry out the same reduction in the hack's brain capacity? Maybe, they did it for a bet or the guest editor was from Viz magazine? If this is the future of serious Journalism, then, we are, to put it in Council Estate parlance - "Fucked".

Alfie

Alfie by Name, Alfie by Nature. I love this picture of my old drinking buddy, Alfie. It's almost as if he is looking right into the camera and, for that split second, with a knowing smile, saying
"Are you ready me, World?"

Alfie was always a very dapper fellow and, still to this day, is the only bloke I know who wore a pink bow tie and got away with it. Well, that's not strictly true, as there was some smashing of glass, followed by a scene straight out the of a wild west saloon, but, that's another story.

Alfie's hobby is Women. Always has been and, probably, always will be. If I didn't already know that the Alfie novel by Bill Naughton had been written in the '60's, I would have sworn that Alfie was the inspiration for it. I guess that we all know someone like Alfie.

Tomorrow, Alfie is off to Brazil for the Carnival. Sun, Sea, Birds and Booze!
In the immortal words of Jimmy Cooper in Quadrophenia; "Get in there, my Son"

Let's Groove

The open mic night that I have recently started performing at, has, as previously mentioned, a very diverse range of acts. The audience consists of people from every walk of life and would keep several marketing firms in business for a few years, should they wish to undertake some market research. One particular lady is always accompanied by her wheeled shopping bag/trolley. Not that strange, I guess, apart from the fact that she has to cart the blessed thing up a fairly substantial flight of stairs to get to the room where the event is held. She must, truly LOVE the music!

My favourite character, it has to be said, is Nigel. Our Nige' is a proper Rock 'n' Roll casualty, who looks like a cross between Ned Flanders and Beavis and Butthead's Hippy Teacher, David Van Driessen. I am not one to judge a tome by it's cover, but, my guess is that Nige' and Drugs had a little meeting of the minds somewhere along the cosmic highway and part of his mind is still on the roadside, trying to thumb a lift back to the Nigel Neuron Central. He has, what can only be described as, a permanent Bogle-Bogle, groove going on. This groove state is kind of like the piss poor special effect that they would use in bad (all?) '70's TV shows, to signify a flashback - you know, the one where the character starts to sway, palm-like, from side to side, followed by some rather crappy zig-zig lines across the screen. During conversation with him, the word "Man" was trotted out, almost mantra-like. He is, as they say, from the old world. I am immediately reminded of James Earl Jones delivering his "You're from the '60's, are'nt you?" line in "Field of Dreams". If he is not on the stage, as part of the jam session, blasting out his blues-rock lead lines, he is to be found smack bang in front of the stage, grooving his ass off and trying to entice anyone within reach to join him. In fact, the only thing missing from this scene is a load of naked chicks and a bonfire! All things considered, I have to admit to having a sneaking admiration for the Man, "Man".

As the wise sage Nige', himself, put it "I can't really remember what happens most of the time, but, I remember the Music, Man" Amen to that , Brother Nigel.

Postscript: I almost forgot about the best record review, ever. It was in Smash Hits Magazine (the pre Take-That, numb-nut version, complete with "Zitty Ben" comic strip) and the 45 in question was Earth, Wind and Fire's, 1981 track "Lets Groove"
The review? "Let's Not"

Slam and Dunk, indeed!

10 Songs that make you want to play the Drums

In no particular order, 10 songs that make you grasp a pair of imaginary drumsticks and give it some Ringo......

1: ELT ~ Wilco.
A full on, four to the floor. slice of Power Pop.

2: Tomorrow Never Knows ~ The Beatles.
Sampled by the world, his wife and the Pope, probably.

3: Teenage Wasteland ~ The Who.
2 for the price of 1. A Rock belter with a Hoe -Down to finish.

4: She Sells Sanctuary/Times like these ~ The Cult/Foo Fighters.
Basically the same song, but, Grohl is let off the hook because it's impossible not to love the man.

5: Dreamin' ~ Blondie.
Apart from being one of the hardest hitting drummers ever, Clem Burke was/is also as cool as Fuck.

6:Beginning to Get to Me ~ Snow Patrol.
Say what you want about Lightbody and the boys, but, this track just makes me want to destroy anything with the name Remo on it.

7: Here comes your Man ~ Pixies.
A '50's - esque, bop along dressed up in a Alt. Rock skin

8: Ring your Bell ~ The Band.
If you have lost your Groove - Enquire within.

9: Don't lie to Me ~ Big Star.
If this doesn't get you flailing about, then buy a wooden box - because you're already dead.

10: DrumBattle ~ Buddy Rich and Animal from The Muppets.
Not a song per se, but, a great piece of '70's TV all the same. "When I play a Theatre, I PLAY the Theatre".

Arthur Dentistry

My eldest son, Finn, is a biter. It doesn't matter what it is, he will have a gnaw at it. Fingernails, Pens, Books and many, many, many articles of clothing have all met their untimely end at the hands (?) of his molars. The last item on this list , clothing, gives Mrs T the greatest cause for concern. What starts the day as a fresh out of the cellophane packaging, school uniform attire, V-neck sweater, more often than not, ends up resembling something that Albert Steptoe would have cheerfully paraded up and down Oil Drum Lane in. She has tried everything to stop the "Attack of the Incisors", but, to no avail. I'm sure that Freud (Sigmund, not shameless "Minced Morsels" advocate, Clement) would blame it on my unhealthy affection for Reggie Perrin's alter ego, Donald Potts. It's obviously just a nervous thing, that we guess (hope, Pray....) will pass in time.

The latest attempt to "Tame the beast" took the form of the removal of a certain number of Finn's privileges, namely the writing of his daily Football Blog. So, with the Sweater stock reduced to one singular non-savaged, item, the warning was put in to place on Friday morning. When Mrs T collected Finn from school that afternoon, he ran out into the freezing temperatures proclaiming "I didn't bite it Mum". Great news, tainted, only, by one tiny fact - he was not, nor had he been, wearing the bloody jumper at all.

The Devil, as they say, is in the detail.

Here is the News, I mean Muse (Reprise)

I am, no doubt about it, in the middle of a purple patch, The songwriting is burning up with "the fever of purple prose" (© P. McAloon). 2 new songs written in less than a week - Bring it on Costello! (Elvis, that is, not Lou). The latest song, "Puzzle Girl", was inspired by a girl in the audience at last thursday's open mic night at King Eddie's. After my little slot, at the very late, but, very rock 'n' roll time of 11:30, she came up to me to say how much she enjoyed my songs. She also said that she considered herself a very harsh critic, where music was concerned, and that I had impressed her so much that she actually put her pen down and ceased trying to solve her Sudoku puzzle for the duration of my 4 songs! So, for all the Marketing folk out there, forget about the Nintendo DS's, the Wi's and the X-Box's, the key to winning over the hearts and minds of the todays fickle teenagers, is to tear them away from Sudoku.

From one "Puzzle Girl" to another;

"An endless puzzle without any solution" ~ Billy Wilder

Mould in the Marriage

Free thinkers: stand up and be counted. Are you struggling to put your finger on the reason for the decline of Marital longevity? Are you still pondering If the answer is no, then, perhaps, your lateral think tank requires some assistance. The good people at the BFI have put together a DVD of some of the educational films, dating back to 1917, that were created to explain the mysteries of Sex and Marriage to teenagers. Sex and Marriage - together?
Reminds me of that old Rock 'n' Roll joke:
Mother: "What do want to be when you grow up, Johnny?"
Johnny: "I wanna be a Rock and Roll star"
Mother: "Now, Now, Johnny, You can't be both"

In this 1932 clip, the reason for the nuclear family's demise is staggeringly obvious - Mould! Yes, mould not only teaches us how to attain our soul mate, but, also, that incest should be avoided and a "cousinly embrace" is the appropriate behaviour, should you find yourself tempted by the allure of your own bloodline.

Forget Music. If Mould be the Food of Love; Grow on....

"Go Ahead Caller, I'm Listening"

Now that I'm back on the live circuit, (okay I know I'm only one gig to the good, but, I need all the bolstering I can get) I am reminded of that regular occurrence in the live musician's calendar - The Gig Day Ritual. When I played in the covers band, this consisted of making sure that I had every lead, connector, fuse and screwdriver known to man. We always supplied the PA at our gigs, as, 9 times out of 10, the venue was a pub. You see, most publicans have very little in the way of a musical ear and are only interested in how many punters you can drag along to their sticky carpet emporiums. Oh, how we used to chortle during a sound check when said landlord would shout "Three, Four" after each of our "Testing One, Two's". I once shouted "Testing, One plus Two" and still the reply was a hearty "Three, Four". Contrary to what those THX people on every sodding DVD would have you believe, the audience is not listening.

The Solo acoustic gig is different. The PA is usually provided and the only two essential items I need to remember are; my Guitar and, Me. It's sort of like the Musician's equivalent of "Wash and Go". Goodbye set lists - Hello spontaneity! I'm heading out for another slot at the open mic tomorrow night and I have no idea what I'm going to play, and, more to the point, I don't want to know. That's not to say that I'm not nervous. I am, but, it's a " I can't wait to get up there" nervousness and, that, for me, is nothing short of a miracle. Unfortunately, for my old sparring partner, it's also the sound of someone shouting "Taxi for Mr Low Self Esteem".

Fight the Power

First, there was light. Then, there was no light, nor TV, nor Radio and no Internet - Oh, the Horror. We had a power cut this morning, 06:45 to be precise. After venturing into the cellar to check that it wasn't just a fuse, it was time to break out the torches. The boys thought it was great, running around with mini mag-lights, like a couple of Darth Vader/Luke Skywalker Mini-Me's. Kids Rock!

I was tasked with unenviable job of calling EDF Energy to report the fault. Now, normally when you call these places, you sit in a queue listening to "Muzak" versions of "Lady in Red" or "I will always love you", which, if endured for more than 15 minutes, would have Nelson Mandela strapping on his Uzi and heading for the nearest call centre. So, what a pleasant surpise I had whenI discovered that EDF's on-hold music, was a very Morcheeba - esque, rare groove. That groove did begin to grate, ever so slightly, after 45 minutes. After an hour and a half, I was ready to give the chill-out room a wide berth and head straight for the Psyche ward.

When I finally got through, the call centre patter was exactly as you'd expect - "Due to the cold weather, blah, blah, - Engineers are very busy, waffle, waffle, - no ETA yet, yawn, yawn. The lovely girl at the other end of the phone signed off with a cheery "Please wrap up warm". Even more bizarrely, she informed that the Red Cross were on hand with Heaters, should the power not be restored within 4 hours! I suddenly felt quite guilty - I am not a Senior Citizen (yet!) and, last time I checked, there was no requirement for Humanitarian aid in my little row of terraced houses. Yes, it was quite cold and, yes, my little boy is not very well and the central heating would make him feel a bit more comfortable, but, in reality, there is very little danger of any household members being Cryonics patients anytime soon. This is not a "How crap is Britain" type diatribe, but, more of an indication of how utterly reliant we have become on our creature comforts. If it were a rant on "Crap Britain" (copyright - The Sun), I would take great joy in telling you that when I called back, to inform them that loss of service was also affecting the rest of the road, their call centre had gone into meltdown!

"Britain, Britain, Britain, a bloody lovely place to live. Discovered in 1972, lost in 1974. Then found a few years later hiding under Belgium. But what makes Britain so fan dabby dozey? Why it's the great British public. Ahhh, push it, push it good, ahhh, push it, push it real good! l"

Out of Character

For those of you who may have missed it last week, the audio footage of Christian Bale's entry for the World Swearing Olympics is available here. It's not really the amount of profanity or pure vitriol directed towards the hapless Director of Photograpy that caught my interest, but, more the hilarious way that Batman's, or should that be Bateman's, accent drifts backwards and forwards across the Atlantic throughout the whole rant. Nothing is more funny than hearing an English man inform you that he is, in no uncertain terms, going to "Kick your F*ckin' Ass", especially when delivered in a cod - californian accent.

In a fitting Life imitates Art moment, Robert Downey Jr's character, Kirk Lazarus, delivers this killer line in the film Tropic Thunder;

"Man, I don't drop character 'till I done the DVD commentary"

I'll have what She's having.

Rocking the iPod this afternoon, whilst simultaneously cooking the Sunday Roast (who said Men can't multi-task?), I gave Bleu's debut album, Redhead, the full "Eleven. Exactly, One louder" treatment. My son, Finn, listened to a few tracks and then said "Is this Paul McCartney?". When I informed him who it was, quick as a flash, he replied "But, they all sound like Paul McCartney". I'll admit that I have been on something of a McCartney-esque singer/songwriter buzz for a few weeks now, but, jeez, was this true? Am I that tightly locked into that Genre? Do they all really sound the same? I hope that this phase will pass and I can get back to spinning some Iggy and the Stooges, followed by some Marvin Gaye and all washed down with a nice glass of Calexico.

I must point out that Finn does not have your average 7 year old's musical taste - for 2 weeks solid on the school run, we had to have The Band's Stage Fright album on constant rotation on the car stereo and, in particular, "Ring your Bell" followed by "Ophelia" . Now, I love Levon Helm and the boys, as much as the next man, MAN!, but, at the end of the fortnight, I was seriously considering doing a "Manuel" myself!

Perhaps my current musical mood is best explained by a comment my wife made a few years back, during a shopping expedition in New York. I had offered to help her find some shoes and when I asked her what kind of shoes it was she was looking for, she replied, pointing at her own shoes, "Exactly the same as these, but, different"

Mick's Tape

Back in my youth, the mix tape was the ultimate display of affection for someone. Whether the relationship was based on pure, lust fuelled, teenage-angst or strictly platonic, the mix tape showed that you had invested some serious time and effort on the recipients behalf. Sitting with a massive pair of Ross Headphones atop my head and two fingers poised above the play & record buttons, is probably how I spent most of my teenage years and, undoubtedly, the main reason why my back is so completely and utterly shagged now. There were, of course, rules:

1: Both Artist's and Song names must be written on the cassette inlay card

2: The tape must have a title. i.e. "Summer Mix", "60's Mix" or "_ _ _ _ _ _'s Mix" (insert name of the person you were trying to kop off with).

3:The front cover must contain your own artwork.

Rules 1 & 2 were a breeze, but, Rule 3 was always a stumbling block for me. For, although I do consider myself an Artist (in the musical sense), my work upon canvas has always been, well, rather shite. So much so, that when I was assigned the task of capturing a classmates likeness during a Secondary School Art lesson, the end result was the best portrait of Peter Shilton that the school had ever seen. Suffice to say, that the classmate did not affect the bastion of all things tonsorial, circa 1979 - the "Man Perm" nor, to the best of my knowledge, did he endorse Sondico Goalkeeper's gloves! I guess now is as good a time as ever to apologise to anyone who received one of my photo-collage, adorned mix tapes - I am truly sorry and hope that the nightmares have now stopped.

I would like to think that I am neither a Luddite or a technophobe, indeed, my unhealthy love for my iPod should serve as testament to this. Nevertheless, when compiling a CD for someone recently, I was struck by how far removed from compiling a Mix Tape the burning process actually is. Gone are the agonising choices of what song should follow the previous one or the worry that half the song will be lost when the tape runs out. Instead, we can click on random playlists or music by genre, year, smell, or size of the lead singers boots.

So which one did I choose? None of the above, I just dragged as many folders as I could fit onto a DVD and burned the little f*cker....

Beatles for Sale

No. 3 Saville Row, London, W1 is up for sale. The former headquarters of the Fab Four's Apple Corps. is to be sold off as office space by it's current owners. Originally bought by The Beatles for £500,000 it is now expected to fetch £25 million - nice! I have always hated working in offices, but, if there's any jobs going here - put me down for one.

My guess is that Lunch-times would go something like this:

Co-Worker: "What are you doing for Lunch?"

Me: "I'm just off to the roof for a quick gig"

Moments later, following a few crackles and pops of guitar leads being plugged in:

"A 1,2,3,4 - Jo-Jo was a man who thought he was a loner.............."

Taking the Biscuit

Money goes to Money, as the old saying goes. Today, Marks and Spencer were victorious in a 13 year, yes, 13 year legal battle with HM Revenue & Customs. From what I can gather the whole argument is whether their "Chocolate covered Tea Cake" is, indeed,a cake and not a chocolate covered biscuit. VAT rules are such that most food attracts a zero rate of tax and this includes Cakes and, wait for it, Dry Biscuits. Chocolate covered Biscuits, however, are considered a luxury item and attract the dreaded VAT. The case actually goes back 20 or so years, but, M&S are set to claw back £3.5 million in VAT originally paid on the Biscuits, sorry, I mean Cakes, as well as interest and legal fees and whatever else they can screw "The Man" for. I wonder if M&S will be giving a rebate to the now- amalgam encrusted poor saps who bought the sodding Bis-cakes in the first place?

So, Chocolate Biscuits = Luxury. If that's true, then I've got my childhood memories all wrong. You see, we ate nothing, but, chocolate covered biscuits in my house throughout the 1970's. I just wish that somebody would have told my Dad that we were living the good life, as I'm sure he would have told most of his employers to, and I quote (from Withnail and I), "Shove it up your arse for nothing and F*ck off while you're doing it".

Who would have thought that the humble McVitie's chocolate digestive biscuit, the epitome of working class sustenance (along with a two-sugared cup of Tea, of course) would turn out to be such a symbol of wanton decadence.

It just goes to show; You can have your Cake and make the Taxman eat it....

Movers & Shakers

During a recent night out, the cab drivers radio was blaring out the Doctor Hook classic " A little bit more". The cheesy appeal of the good Doctor seemed lost on our humble cab driver and he looked at us rather non-plussed when asked if the tune was , indeed, "floating his boat". The "Hook", as they shall be known from now on, seemed omnipresent on Top of the Pops during the 70's and were always memorable due to their one-eyed, eye patch-wearing, Maraca - shaking, member Ray Sawyer (and, yes I am aware of the duality of the phrase - one eyed member). Now , given that he did offer up some vocals, the subject of conversation then turned to Bands /Artists who had a non-musical member/sidekick.

Next up, and for your delight, - Jed. You remember him, don't you? The little mime friend of 1980's electronic pop troubadour, Howard Jones (Who said the '80's was a shite time for music?). Now, Jed was truly awful. I can only describe his dancing as that of some old, crusty hippy dancing around a campfire offering thanks to the Sun and/or the Moon or your father trying to breakdance at a wedding. I have a personal hatred of all things Mime and feel that they are, in fact, the only thing on this planet that I would never tire of kicking. This also reminds me of a story from the days of 1970's Football Hooliganism, whereby an old friend of mine used to sing "Leather, Leather, Leather - All together" as he introduced members of the opposing team's fan club to his own good Doctor - "Dr. Marten". Now, where was I?

Ah, yes. Those who do not bring a lot to the musical table. I have saved the best for last. So, without further ado;

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you - Bez".

Permanently whacked off of his gourd on disco biscuits, Bez was another fine exponent of the mighty Maraca and was to be found shakin' 'n' a struttin' his way around the stage with the Happy Mondays. The Mondays drug intake is legendary, almost a UK version of Aerosmith, although I'm not sure if Mr (Going down?) Tyler & Co. ever fed amphetamines to a flock of pigeons. At one point, Bez even held the world record for Maraca shaking, when he, along with 406 other Maraca-equipped dudes, climbed onto a stage in Manchester and shook his stuff along to the Mondays' version of "Step On". He also, bizarrely, won Celebrity Big Brother in 2005, all of which goes to prove that Mr Warhol's 15 minutes of Fame theory has always been a complete load of arse.

"I'm never going to be famous. My name will never be writ large on the roster of Those Who Do Things. I don't do anything. Not one single thing. I used to bite my nails, but I don't even do that any more.” ~ Dorothy Parker