Sharp Dressed Man

As an old Mod (1980's version, I'm not that old!), I still like to look the part, wherever possible. Whilst walking through St. Paul's this morning, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a shop window and realised that, even after all these years, I haven't strayed too far from the clean, crisp modernist lines of my youth.

I have an almost Imelda Marcos - like addiction for ankle boots. In fact, I think my entire teenage years were spent be-hooved in a pair of Chelsea boots. On my heels were the obligatory Blakey's shoe protectors (eulogised so well by my good friend Danny Wilson in his "Red Tree Song") which probably meant that my footsteps could be heard in outer space. On the very rare occasion that I do wear a pair of shoes, my ankles feel like they are naked and I have repeat the policeman's mantra of "nothing to see here, move along" over and over in my head to prevent myself from running to the nearest shoe shop and buying another pair of chelsea boots.

The morning's attire was topped off with my fave vintage leather jacket (with ankle boots too, of course) and as I walked on, a young lad looked at me and said "I love the jacket, Man". Which just goes to prove that once you have "it", you never lose "it".

"We are the Mods, We are the Mods, We are, We are, We are the Mods"

Ringing Like A Bell

Walking across Holborn Viaduct today, I watched as a man crossed the road and was almost run over by a cyclist. Nothing new there, happens all the time, I hear you say. Well, yes it does and this is central London after all. However, what really struck me was not the fact that the dude on Shanksy's Pony was completely oblivious to this near miss, but, that in order to warn ol' Roy Rogers that he was imminent danger, the cyclist rang his bell. I'm not sure who was most at fault really; pedestrian Roy for not even looking as he crossed the road or the cyclist for actually believing that anyone apart from Steve Austin would be able to hear his Fisher Price super-duper ding dong device above the ceaseless throng of taxi's and bendy buses.

The humble cycle bell is from an age gone by, a time where car horns went parp or poop. I can't think of anything more pointless to have affixed to your handlebars whilst traversing the mean streets of Holborn, except, perhaps, an ashtray. The highway code states the following "Be considerate of other road users, particularly blind and partially sighted pedestrians. Let them know you are there when necessary, for example by ringing your bell." So, there you have it loyal reader, unless you want to start carving notches on your handlebars any time soon, you'd better make sure that your bell is Big-F***ing-Ben....

Nice Konk

As a means of killing time during the long periods spent waiting around whilst on jury service, I have started to read "Kink" by Dave Davies of The Kinks. It's no secret that Ray and Dave no longer see eye to eye (I doubt they ever did!), but, both come across as though they enjoyed very little of their time in the spotlight. Another thing that never ceases to amaze me is how Pop celebrity seems to mix the utterly mundane with the outrageous. Tales of drunken excess from the legendary Hyatt hotel in LA are spliced with orders for plastic bottles of Woodpecker cider and ham sandwiches. Drug fuelled, sexual hi-jinks and cross dressing share equal billing with games of snooker and watching Arsenal. It only seems to confirm what I have always suspected about fame: it is, for the most part, rather boring. When asked what it's like having been in the Rolling Stones for 25 years, Charlie Watts replied "5 years of playing and 20 years sat, waiting around in airports"

Fame: you wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy....

Pop is NOT a dirty word

Greetings loyal reader,

Long time no blog, I know, but, I do have a good excuse. I have been spending every spare minute locked away in the recording studio working on my debut album. Now, debut albums should be, in my mind, at least, something that you complete by the age of 21 and then fade away into the land of pop obscurity. Perhaps rearing it's head a few years later in the 50p box at your local Our Price, store but, vanishing without a trace all the same.

As the saying goes, "life is what happens while you're busy planning other things" and that is true for me. When I started out as a musician, I gave myself the target of "making it" by the the time I was 18 or else I would throw in the towel. That target got pushed out to 21, which, in turn, got pushed out to 25, then 30, then 35, after which the brain and I never discussed the target again. As the learned professor of history, David Lee Roth, once pointed out, "life goes on without me". He also set his poodle rock hairdo on fire, so maybe he's not the best scholar to adopt as a life coach.

As the pop star life, seemingly, went on without me, I got married, travelled the world, worked for "the man" and had kids. I still bought the weekly rock bibles of the NME & Melody Maker and pored over the monthly mature rock publications like Mojo & Uncut and watched as many bands hit the target as was humanly possible. Some nights were so awe inspiring, they were almost like a religious happening. One night in Cambridge, Jeff Buckley actually made me cry, so heartbreaking was his delivery of "Lover you should have come over". Another night, Jellyfish hit their harmonies so perfect that people swore that 4 guys on stage could not sound that huge without the use of backing tapes. I watched Superdrag rock the life out of me and my bottle of Samuel Adams in the searing afternoon sun of downtown Charlotte. The list and the ticket stubs (yes, I am a geek) go on forever, but, one sunday night watching Dillon Fence support the Black Crowes in London I realised that although the Pop life was going on all around me, I still wanted to hit that stupid target.

There were plenty of other crutches along the way to convince myself that I could be happy without livin' the dream. The purchase of vintage guitars, the riding of hi-end mountain bikes and even 5 years playing in a covers band. To this day, when I hear the opening few bars of Mustang Sally it still makes me want to eat my gun. So, as the creative juices were all but sucked out of me, unconsciously, I just decided to stop playing when my second child was born. I didn't really pick up the guitar and I had absolutely no desire to try and write a song. The creative well was drier than a mormon wedding. It wasnt just that i couldnt write a song it was almost as if i had forgotten how to.

As I have previously mentioned, A few key things happened to get me back on track . The first was seeing my old pal, Danny Wilson, play a solo show and being blown away by his ability to totally captivate the audience and the second was buying a piano on a whim. The third was hooking up with Philadelphia musician and all round good guy, Jim Boggia. So, one day, after taking a trip down memory lane, which involved a visit to my old primary school and a walk around my beloved birthplace, Hoxton, I came home chock full of memories and the "Hoxton Song" came tumbling out from the very first time I sat down at my newly acquired piano. A quickly recorded demo was beamed across the pond to Jim and, after a few anxious months of waiting, Mr Boggia delivered the glorious backing vocal arrangement and sublime bass line into my inbox. What happened next all seems a bit of a creative blur now, but, I seemed to go from one serendipitous encounter to another. I was introduced to my co-producer, Mick Wilson, through a friend of a friend and we hit it off straight away. Not only did he live a stones throw away, but, he had also just finished building his own recording studio in his garden. Rates were agreed, harmonies were sung, timing was questioned, nuclear strength coffee was consumed and, over the period of 10 short months, my debut LP, "The Grown Ups" was born.

So fast forward to the present day and you find me with my album released and available at the click of a button. You can download it, stream it, buy the CD and even come and see me play the songs live. So, as I write this, I'm sitting here waiting for the latest issue of R2 (Rock 'n' Real) magazine to hit the newstand (it features a review of my LP) and trying to put a band together to play a show at the IPO Power Pop festival in London on May 30th - How cool is that?

As Woody Allen once said "80% of success is showing up". What I have learned, is that, if you ask nicely, people tend to say "Yes" a lot more than they say "No". So, put your Chuck Taylor's on, step out into the sunlight and get yourself some happy!