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".