Mick Terry - Pop is NOT a dirty word

Happy Birthday to "The Grown Ups": Hoxton Song (Reprise)

2011-11-08T14:35:00.003Z

As a way of celebrating the first birthday of my debut album, The Grown Ups, I thought I would write a little "behind the scenes" feature about each of the songs on the LP. You can listen, download or buy the album over at www.mickterry.co.uk

HOXTON SONG (REPRISE)

Not long after the recording sessions for The Grown Ups began in late 2009, I set a date for the album’s release. I planned to unveil it to the world on 21^st October 2010 and felt sure that this would leave me with ample time to record, mix, master and manufacture the CD’s. The artwork process hadn’t really entered my head at this stage and, apart from knowing that I wanted liner notes and lyrics, (what can I say? I’m a geek) I didn’t really think it would take up too much space in the overall timeline of the project. As the album release date loomed ever closer, it was clear that not only was I short on songs, I was also sailing very close to wind with regards to getting the CD’s manufactured in time for the album release party. With this in mind, I had moved the release date back to the 30^th October, but, because I already confirmed the release show date with my pal, Jim Boggia, the date to deliver was now set in stone.

Enlisting the help of my good friend and general sounding board, Fin, we began a journey into the wonderful world of artwork. Our nights were filled with discussions concerning graphics, Photoshop and Coopersale black font. We would constantly work until the early hours of the morning, on a PC so slow it would have made Mother Teresa use the “C” word…repeatedly. The creative input required to produce the album’s artwork was a mirror of the recording process for the songs themselves. How I could ever have believed otherwise is quite beyond me now. We delivered the artwork to the CD manufacturer with minutes left on the clock and even a lost cheque couldn’t stop the arrival of my perfect, little Pop baby. The Grown Ups was born at 8pm on 30^th October 2010, surrounded by friends, family and well wishers and its birth remains one of my proudest moments as a parent.

Hoxton Song was originally 4:23 in length and the last verse was intended as a slightly melancholic, coda to the rest of the song. The original version also faded out to the sounds of a children’s playground; full of laughter, screams and the rumble of passing traffic. As the recording sessions drew to a close, I knew that we only had eight songs in the can (if it wasn’t for Jim Boggia’s injury time vocals on “Tinseltown” ,it would have only been seven) and, out of sheer desperation, I turned to the holy fathers; John, Paul, George & Ringo, for divine inspiration. During the making of Sgt. Pepper, the fab four’s road manager, Neil Aspinall, had suggested that as the album had a “welcome” song, it should also have a “goodbye” song and, so, the idea for the reprise was born. I thought that if it was possible to separate the last verse and somehow fade into it, then we could create a reprise too. This would also mean that Hoxton Song effectively, book-ended the LP. My friend and trusty producer, Mick Wilson, leapt through the editing equivalent of rings of fire to make this happen and, using Jim Boggia’s beautiful, stacked harmonies, he created his very own hello and goodbye versions of the song. The entire album clocks in at a shade under 30 minutes in length, but, as I have now come to realise, it’s not about the minutes, it’s what you say and do in the seconds that make up those minutes that really counts.

Happy Birthday to "The Grown Ups": Safe From Sound

2011-11-07T16:57:00.001Z

SAFE FROM SOUND

The entries in a personal diary should never be underestimated. A remark that seems frivolous, off the cuff or, even, throwaway today can carry more weight in 25 years time than you could ever possibly imagine. When I kept my diary in 1982, I was, unwittingly, fashioning my own little time capsule. As the dust settled on my weighty tome, my life began in earnest, albeit, undocumented. Milestones came and went, friendships waxed and waned and, somewhere along the way, the boy became a man.

When I began to re-read my diary back in 2008, it took a while to comprehend just how powerful the written word can be. I think those 365 pages revealed more about me than all of my alcohol-fuelled, pop-psychology, soul searching sessions put together. I also realised that because no one else had ever read the diary, the life of the boy I used to be had been preserved and he was still very much alive within those pages. As I journeyed through days past, each entry played out like a Super 8mm movie in slow motion; minutes for hours, hours for days and days for months. It was exactly how I remembered it, but, completely different. The same, yet, changed forever. In the end, nothing is ever quite like you remember it and we tend to bend the truth more often than we would probably care to admit. For, even though we live in a world where instant recall, fast forward and rewind are all readily available at the click of a button, we are unable to apply that technology to the one thing that needs it the most; our memory.

Happy Birthday to "The Grown Ups": Tinseltown

2011-11-06T10:38:00.005Z

TINSELTOWN

In the summer of 1977, one of the kids pictured on the front cover of The Grown Ups died. It was a horrible accident and it, obviously, devastated his family. His mother wore black everyday for more years than I can remember. At least, that’s how I remember her and probably says more about how a child deals with exposure to death, rather than the ravaging effect that time has upon one’s memory. We had all returned from our various summer holidays, only to discover the awful news of the passing of one of our classmates. It was also the year that we left primary school and, so, with the class splintering across various secondary schools in the area, we were somehow robbed of the collective grief process. Most of the parents of the working class families I grew up with had been through the war and, as such, public displays of emotion were not commonplace, if at all. As time passed, I would often see the front room of his house in almost total darkness, save for a small candle, and the shadowy figures moving about within filled me with a sadness that has never left me.

I never mustered the courage to speak to his mother after his death, her constant black veil, powerless to hide the grief that consumed her, was so terrifyingly final. As you grow older, you learn that the hardest words to say are always the most important. Deep down, I think that “Tinseltown” was written as an apology for that.

Happy Birthday to "The Grown Ups": Ringing like a Bell

2011-11-05T20:39:00.002Z

RINGING LIKE A BELL

Sometimes you are lucky enough to get in on the ground floor with an artist. By luck or chance you stumble across them playing a small dive venue or sneaking onto the bottom of an established artist’s support bill. I first saw Danny George Wilson perform, alongside his brother Julian, in their band Grand Drive. From the get-go they oozed class. Julian had the soulful Hammond Organ chops and when he and Danny sang in harmony it was like the spirit of the Everly Brothers had entered the 12 Bar Club. I would bump into Danny at gigs and we soon struck up a friendship, bonding over our love of North Carolina Power-Poppers, Dillon Fence . I kind of lost touch with Danny when my first son was born, but, it was clear to see that the wheels on the Grand Drive camper van were beginning to grind to a halt.

Our paths crossed again in March 2008, when he played a show at the splendid What’s Cookin’ venue. I watched as Danny, now all grown up, held the room spellbound and I knew at once that his star was in the ascendance. I returned home, drunk on a heady brew of Guinness and inspiration, and began to write what would become “Ringing like a Bell”. Having endured more songwriting salad days than any man, vegan or otherwise, should have to bear, I knew deep down that this had the makings of a classic song. When the time came to commit it to tape, I knew that I wanted to have a “Faces/Ronnie Lane” feel to the track and, in the end, I don’t think we were too wide of the mark. If I had to pick a favourite from The Grown Ups I think that this would just shave it.

In July 2011, the song became my first ever radio airplay, courtesy of the great Ralph McLean and his sublime “Classic Album Show” on BBC Radio Ulster. The icing on the cake, however, was hearing my old friend Danny’s new band “Danny and the Champions of the World” being played on the same show. As well as Dillon Fence, Terry Reid and Chocolate Milk Shakes, Danny George Wilson and I are also rather fond of the word Serendipity....

Happy Birthday to "The Grown Ups": The Usher's Tale

2011-11-04T12:30:00.004Z

THE USHER’S TALE

Two of my close friends met and, subsequently, fell in love at university. There was, however, one small problem. He lived in Belfast and she in London. When college was over, they headed back to their respective parents homes and so began their long distance love affair. He took a job as a cinema usher and, in the slow periods, he began to write her a series of fantastic, long letters. When the letters arrived in London, she would read them and tell the family how great they were. As time went on, the rest of the family began to read the letters too. So much so, that, when the letters dropped through the letterbox, it was commonplace for them to be opened by whoever got to the front door first.

On hearing this tale of the letters, I immediately thought it would make a great storyline for a song. As I worked on the song, it became clear that there were similarities between their relationship and that of my wife and I. They too had traveled across Australia and even stayed in the same towns as we did. I’m not sure at what point the song actually began to incorporate elements from our relationship as well, but, I quite like the idea of the line between the two stories becoming blurred. The lyrics in the second verse were meant to be like postcards or snapshots capturing the lovers as they make their way across the landscape. The dance of love can be like a shooting star; bright, beautiful, but, gone too soon. If we are really lucky, it holds us forever in its sway.

Happy Birthday to "The Grown Ups": T.E.D.

2011-11-03T12:53:00.001Z

T.E.D.

In 1982 I kept a personal diary. It is the only diary I have ever kept and I wrote in it every day. With hindsight, 1982 was a perfect choice as it captured the period between my last year at school and my first year at work. It was a year of great change in my life. Leaving school and heading out into the big, wide world had left me feeling like I was on the bottom rung of the ladder all over again, rather than becoming the adult I was so desperate to be. I had always envisaged being magically transformed from boy to man overnight when I hit my 16^th year, but, pre-conceived notions, more often than not, have a way of slapping you right in the kisser.

I was a shy kid and often marveled at how interesting other people’s lives appeared to be. They always seemed to be doing the things I wanted to do: going to clubs, playing in bands, taking drugs and having sex. In short, I wanted their lives. Instead, I lived, vicariously, through the pages of the NME, Melody Maker and Smash Hits. I looked upon music as a religion. I worshipped The Jam and The Small Faces. Paul Weller could have told me to eat my shoes and I would have done it without missing a beat. Stevie Marriot, however, was the perfect role model. He was a Mod (like me), he was short (like me) and had a blue-eyed soul voice that could tear the roof of off the joint (unlike me). Around this time I joined my first band and tried to emulate little Stevie and his Faces. It was a short lived affair and probably lasted less than 18 months, but, I knew that this was what I wanted to do. I began to set targets for myself. If I didn’t get signed by a record company by the time I was 18, I would give up. This deadline was extended to 21, then 25, then 30, after which point we never mentioned the deadline again.

Back in my year zero of 1982, a friend of mine had an imaginary friend. She would refer to him all the time, without a hint of irony: “He did this”, “He said that” or “We went there”. I was deeply envious. Although I had the friends I had grown up with, I could already feel myself drifting away from them. I wanted more than the work/pub/marriage/work/pub merry-go-round that seemed to be on offer and yearned for a like-minded soul. The imaginary friend seemed like the perfect answer, but, try as I might, I could never, quite, pull it off. I was much too self conscious and, coupled with the crunching right hook of low self esteem that hit me on a daily basis, was always left feeling like a fraud. To carry it off successfully, you’ve got to believe your own press. On my 16^th birthday, my friend sent me a card and signed it from both of them. It was a great pimp move. I still have that card somewhere……

Happy Birthday to "The Grown Ups": Comets

2011-11-02T10:43:00.014Z

COMETS

Our lives are shaped by the choices we make. They wrap around us like a blanket, woven deep into the fabric. What would the 16 year old version of yourself make of the path you have chosen? Time has the power to distort your dreams beyond recognition, to blur the line between sacrifice and compromise and leave you, ultimately, feeling cheated. The struggle to hold true to your beliefs gets harder with each passing year and the pressure to conform almost unbearable. Some days, that little voice inside of you is barely audible and it can leave you wondering if it was ever, truly there at all. Those are the days when compromise sneaks up on you, whispering sweet nothings and false praise in your ear. The temptation to put the car into drive and head for the “easier road” suckers most of us in the end and renders us powerless to ignore the siren’s beautiful lament.

Fast forward and we are knee deep in mortgages, offspring and reality TV shows. Having convinced ourselves that we are happier, we lose sight of what really mattered, what still matters. The kick you got from playing a Clash 45 at full volume, from reading Steinbeck or the thrill of a warm kiss. There are a thousand reasons why you can’t do something, but, only one reason why you can: because you should! Nostalgia is just regret viewed through prettier spectacles.

Driving back home through Islington on a summer’s night, I saw the moon almost perched upon the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral. It was breathtaking. A moment of staggering beauty in the greatest city in the world, my city, my London. I pulled the car over, parked and sat outside the Betsy Trotwood pub in Clerkenwell. I watched as the planes twinkled above the London skyline, the modern world intertwined with the old, and realised that this was exactly the kind of choice we very rarely make. We never stop the car, we never gaze at the moon and we never see the wonder that surrounds us. I wrote "Comets" the next day, believing it to be a comment on the lives of people around me. Looking back, I think it was more like a "note to self" from the 16 year old me.

Happy Birthday to "The Grown Ups": Northern Exposure

2011-11-01T10:12:00.004Z

NORTHERN EXPOSURE

I have always, and still do, suffer from a lack of self belief which manifests itself, at best, as a lack of confidence or, at worst, as a crunching, right hook from the hand of low self-esteem. You could put me in a room of 10 musicians and I would immediately relegate myself to 10th position without hearing any of them play a note. When I started playing live again back in 2009, I performed at "open mic" night where the acts went from the sublime to the ridiculous. On my arrival at the venue, I was greeted by the sight of a young boy walking around the room with his guitar strapped on, but, slung behind his back with the headstock facing the floor. I thought this kid must be seriously fucking good! Maybe this is how a young Stevie Winwood would have strutted around back in the early 60's? Nothing could be further from the truth. When the would-be Hendrix actually began to play, it was clear that he knew three chords and he played each of his cover songs with said three chords. Even if the song actually required more than those three chords or different chords altogether, he played those songs and sang a melody which bore no relation to the original song. You had to admire his bravado. He was fearless. He was stupid. Maybe equal measures of both, but, as we all know, presentation is everything.

Back in the early 90's there was TV show called Northern Exposure. In one episode, the Ed Chigiak character sees his low self esteem brought to life in the form of a sneering, sniping and vitriolic dwarf. Once Ed realises how much this self loathing is affecting his life, the scene ends with the little guy, tail between his legs, wandering off into the woods. My little guy is still around, and probably always will be, but, nowadays, when I hit the stage to perform, I look that little fucker right between the eyes and give him the middle finger....

Happy Birthday to "The Grown Ups": Hoxton Song

2011-10-31T10:28:00.003Z

HOXTON SONG

Sometime in late 2008, on a whim, I bought a piano . I hadn't really written anything substantial in over five years, other than the beginnings of a song that would eventually become "Ringing Like a Bell" , and I had begun to wonder if my writer's block had applied for permanent residence. Not being a piano player by any stretch of the imagination, I found that just by changing the bass notes over a floating chord immediately freed me from the tired guitar chord progressions I would normally veer towards. Sometimes you just need to hear the same notes in a different order. Who knew?

Around the same time I had started to use Facebook and hooked up with a few old friends I grew up with in Hoxton. On one of the groups, somebody had posted a copy of the photo which would become the front cover for The Grown Ups. Whilst discussing this with one of my old school pals, he said that he still remembered me being drunk on top of the postbox after my sister's wedding and trying to convince the police that I was merely overcome with emotion, rather than a heavily intoxicated 14 year old. That afternoon, returning to the piano, I sang the line "That's me drunk on top of the postbox. " over a descending bass line and Hoxton Song tumbled out in about 20 minutes flat. In little more than the time that it takes to cook a Vesta meal, I had finally emerged from the songwriting wilderness.

A few years previously, whilst driving through North Carolina, I spotted a Grizzly Adams type character emerging from the woods, carrying four rusty car exhaust tail pipes on his shoulder. To this day, it still puzzles me as to exactly how the donor cars ended up in the middle of a forest. In my head, I see myself with a full-on trapper's beard, emerging from the woods and dragging an old piano behind me.

Songwriting is like that....

"You're gonna die up there."

2011-10-04T09:02:00.002+01:00

What is it about the moon that is so inspiring? Is it the fact that it seems so big that you could almost touch it, or that, unless you happen to drive around in an Apollo landing craft, you will never set foot on it. Either way, that gravitational pull has us all, at one time or another, reaching for something completely beyond our grasp.

Romantic notions aside, it is a cold, dark place where no known life form can exist. After all, "There is no Dark Side Of The Moon, it's all dark". So, why on earth would you want to visit such a god forsaken place? I think that because it is such a permanent fixture in our lives from the very beginning, it has an almost siren-like quality. On a clear night it can always be found smiling down on you, trying to tempt you with it's other worldly charms. When I was a kid, I used to picture the man in the moon as a kind of spiv-like character, opening his coat to reveal stars and moonbeams for sale, each one of them hanging perfectly from the inner lining.

Perhaps, it's a symbol of a time when we believed anything was possible, when TV fed that dream and promised us that a brave new world was just around the corner. We watched, in our millions, as man set foot on the moon and believed that we'd all be whizzing towards the thin blue line within the next 5 years.

Fast forward to 2011 and we seem to be looking back with an almost, whimsical longing to a planet inhabited by Martin Landau and his band of brothers. Perhaps, the reason we send robots deep into the far corners of the galaxy is that we now know, without uncertainty, that the Solar System is a very, very lonely place. Careful what you wish for Space Cadets....

Kontiki - Cotton Mather

2011-10-03T12:35:00.010+01:00

The world of popular music is littered with great, lost albums, terrific records which somehow dipped beneath the public radar, only to be unearthed years later when the band members were either too old to rock out or had actually rocked completetly off of this mortal coil. Maybe the lost album is, in itself, a lost art. With the way music is now released in the digital domain and stored for perpetuity, no recording should ever be deleted and, therefore, lost? Think of Big Star and their first two records; two of the most glorious slices of Power Pop heaven you are ever likely to taste (I'm still not convinced about the "Third"). Out of step with the music of the early '70's, their hooks, melodies and achingly, beautiful harmonies languished in record collections of only the very knowing, until a fan chanced his arm and wrote a letter asking them to reform. The subsequent reformation unfortunately came to late for founding member Chris Bell who was killed in a motor accident in 198. Even if you were lucky enough to catch the new line up, Alex Chilton could never understand how these early and, to him at least, embarrassing songs were held in such high esteem.

Back in the late '90's(1997 to be exact)I got my hands on a copy of Cotton Mather's Kontiki CD and I was hooked from the very first listen. What the f*ck was going on in these songs? A vocalist (Robert Harrison) from Austin, Texas who sounded more like Lennon than Lennon, but also sounded like Sir Robert of Dylan in equal measures. Operatic interludes (I can dig that), audio bleed (lots of it), tape hiss (yum yum) and chock full of Power Pop hooks you'd sell your kids for. King Mono-Brow, Noel Gallagher liked it so much, he got Cotton Mather to support Oasis on tour! I saw the band in London about 4 times and even managed to have a great little chat with Robert Harrison about the recording of the record. Many years later I discovered him alive and well on MySpace and emailed him, mentioning our little chat. Gracious as ever, he even said he remembered it.

So, coming full circle and, even though he has been busy with his new band, Future Clouds and Radar, we find that Robert has decided to fund the re-release of Kontiki as a Kickstarter project. This basically enables fans to pledge money to the project in order to reach an agreed funding target. As long as you hit the target, the funds are released. The good news is that the target has already been met and the re-release is set for January 2012, thus ensuring that this great, lost album never goes M.I.A again.

On The Air

2011-07-22T08:12:00.004+01:00

It's unlikely that meeting Jackson Browne would not be considered the highlight of my week, or, indeed, year, but, last night my song, Ringing Like A Bell, was played on BBC Radio. This was my first ever airplay and I couldn't be happier that it was played by the rather wonderful Ralph McLean on his BBC Radio Ulster "Classic Albums" show. Ralph is a genuine music fan and obviously wears his anorak with pride, just as I do. So, to have my song sandwiched between Brinsley Schwarz's mighty "Peace, Love and Understanding" and Shack's majestic "Comedy" was like a dream come true. The fact that I was listening to show live on the web only made the feeling that much sweeter. I felt like Mark Cavendish being launched into the final 50m by Mark Renshaw, only it was Nick Lowe who was my lead out man and you just can't fail to win when "Basher" is on your team. And you know what? I think I can see Paris from here....

The Great Pretender

2011-07-21T13:36:00.008+01:00

Ever since I got back on the road myself, I don't get to see as many gigs as I used to. This week, however, I went to see the same bill twice at two very different venues. The artists in question were Dawes and Jonathan Wilson. On tuesday night I caught them in the basement of the Slaughtered lamb, just up the road from my beloved Hoxton. The Lamb has a real funky little vibe to it with leather seats and a few nooks and crannies to sit in. Dawes were superb, a real master class in both songwriting and musicianship. They went on to back Jonathan Wilson for the majority of his set and, as well as being their producer, he was equally steeped in those laurel canyon traditions as Dawes were. Then, to top off a great night of music, they brought out Jackson Browne. Now I have been a massive fan of Browne's ever since I got my hands on a heavily scratched copy of his masterpiece "The Pretender" and, even though I have seen him perform live before, to see him singing not more than 10 feet away from me was like a dream come true. They played one of Jonathan's tunes and then went into "These Days" and "Take It Easy", at which point the whole room was singing along. As they said in The Comic Strip " Everybody loves the Eagles".

When the show was done I watched as JB headed straight over to the young sound guy manning the PA and shook his hand. Here was a classic artist who has never forgotten his roots. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to talk to the great man, so I headed over and introduced myself, shook his hand and told him that I was going to shout out for "Linda Paloma", but, thought it wasn't fair as it was Dawes & Jonathan Wilson's show. I gave him a copy of my CD and he smiled and thanked me. I said goodbye and then walked up the stairs or maybe I floated up, I'm not sure which, but, I know that at that very moment I was the proud owner of the biggest smile in London Town.

As I walked into the Tube station, I put on my iPod and selected Jackson's "The Pretender" album and, as if the evening hadn't been serendipitous enough, the final track (The Pretender) finished at the exact same moment that I put the key into the lock of my front door.

I did it all again at the Borderline on Wednesday night, but, even though Jackson was the special guest again, it just couldn't top my fleeting moment in the California Sun with the Great Pretender the night before.

"Make room for my forty-fives
Along beside your seventy-eights"

Sharp Dressed Man

2011-03-19T11:35:00.003Z

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

2011-03-16T21:38:00.005Z

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

2011-03-15T11:52:00.001Z

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

2011-03-14T12:41:00.010Z

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!

If you build it, they will come...

2009-10-11T10:43:00.011+01:00

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

2009-06-28T10:16:00.004+01:00

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

2009-06-11T20:05:00.008+01:00

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'

2009-05-27T09:06:00.007+01:00

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

2009-05-13T06:55:00.008+01:00

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

2009-05-08T12:58:00.017+01:00

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

2009-05-08T09:42:00.004+01:00

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

2009-04-23T00:55:00.005+01:00

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

2009-04-21T11:29:00.006+01:00

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.

London Converse(ation)

2009-04-03T17:20:00.004+01:00

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!

2009-03-22T21:42:00.005Z

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

2009-03-20T16:05:00.005Z

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

2009-03-13T15:34:00.010Z

"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)

2009-03-09T16:36:00.016Z

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

2009-03-08T04:36:00.009Z

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

2009-03-06T18:17:00.006Z

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

2009-03-05T22:23:00.006Z

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

2009-03-04T12:25:00.001Z

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

2009-03-03T13:45:00.002Z

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

2009-03-02T16:46:00.004Z

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

2009-03-01T16:27:00.003Z

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

2009-02-28T11:24:00.002Z

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

2009-02-27T12:01:00.005Z

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

2009-02-26T18:34:00.004Z

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

2009-02-25T20:01:00.005Z

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

2009-02-24T23:35:00.004Z

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

2009-02-23T22:29:00.006Z

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"

2009-02-22T19:50:00.004Z

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

2009-02-20T10:16:00.007Z

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

2009-02-19T21:41:00.002Z

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

2009-02-18T21:24:00.005Z

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

2009-02-17T16:04:00.006Z

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

2009-02-16T12:49:00.009Z

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

2009-02-15T19:23:00.002Z

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)

2009-02-14T08:40:00.004Z

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

2009-02-13T08:51:00.005Z

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"

2009-02-11T23:25:00.007Z

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

2009-02-10T11:29:00.005Z

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

2009-02-09T16:24:00.008Z

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.

2009-02-08T20:06:00.004Z

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

2009-02-07T20:00:00.005Z

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

2009-02-06T09:24:00.007Z

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

2009-02-05T16:14:00.010Z

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

2009-02-03T08:55:00.006Z

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

The Ice Man Cometh

2009-02-03T08:40:00.009Z

I always used to be a good sleeper. When I lived in the heart of the city, no poilce siren, domestic disturbance or constant traffic drone could stir me from my blissful repose. These days, (nights?) I wake at all hours throughout the night. I no longer experience work related stressed and my kids now sleep through the night 95% of the time, so what gives? It's not so much the waking I object to, but, to the not being able to get back to sleep. My brain seems to whizz around faster than Chorlton and/or the Wheelies. The end result is that lie awake for roughly 2 hours, before I finally drop off to sleep. The problem here is that at that point I am ready to admit defeat and actually get up and go downstairs. My moment of martydom snatched from me at the last gasp (or snore in this case). All of which begs the question: "Sopor Interuptus - Why me?"

Last night, at least, I found a reason. Around 2 in the morning I was stirred from my slumber by a sound reminiscent of a scene from Ang Lee's "The Ice Storm". A loud, cracking noise was coming from outside and when I looked out of the window, I saw that all the snow on the road had turned to ice and it was cracking under the weight of the cars as they travelled over it. Now, I'll admit it would have been way cooler (get it?), when I peered out of the window, if I had seen a young Elijah Wood being electrocuted on a guard rail, but, at least I knew what had awoken me this time. So what happened next? Bingo! - I went back to my ritual of tossing and turning for another 2 hours, of course.

Here's 3 for the road (or bed, if you prefer)

When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep, and you're never really
awake. ~Chuck Palahniuk

Don't try to solve serious matters in the middle of the night. ~ Phillip K. Dick

Life is something that happens when you can't get to sleep. ~Fran Lebowitz

That's Snow Business, Folks

2009-02-02T12:17:00.005Z

We sometimes the forget the simple pleasures in life, getting sucked in by the consumerism monster or the Cathode Ray Tube (sorry, LCD just doesn't sound as poignant) instead. Yesterday, I sat in the Kitchen with my 2 boys, watching the first of what turned out to be a very heavy snowfall, transform the empty, winter greenery of our garden into a scene straight out of a Snowglobe. The look of wonder and excitement on their faces was absolutely priceless and one I will always remember.

At about 11:45 pm, just before I went to bed, I sat in the Kitchen again and marvelled at the simple beauty of the Snow. Although it was close to midnight, the entire garden and surrounding skyline was bathed in a cool white glow. For 10 minutes I sat, watching the snow fall and I'd like to think that the look on my face was every bit as happy as the one I had witnessed on my son's faces, earlier in the day.

I love Snow.....

The Big Fella

2009-02-01T09:40:00.006Z

I awoke bolt upright at 4:30 am on Saturday morning, convinced that I had heard my youngest son, Kian, shouting out. When I checked on him, he was sleeping like the proverbial baby that he is. I could not get back to sleep, tossing and turning, until I finally got up with the boys around 7 o'clock. When I got downstairs there was text message on my mobile, informing me that my good friend, Martin, had passed away peacefully in his sleep during the early hours of Saturday morning. He had been battling with his illness for over 5 years and throughout this time he continued to be the same funny, warm and larger than life character he had always been. He never once affected the "Poor Me" expression , but, instead, carried himself with both dignity and grace and a genuine lust for life.

When I saw him last, just prior to Christmas, he looked fantastic and was still to be found mercilessly ripping the piss out of all and sundry. It was a hard day, everyone present that afternoon knew that it was probably the last time they would see him alive. As the evening drew in, he quickly became tired and it was if all his strength had disappeared in an instant. As we waited outside for his wife to collect him, I gave the Big Fella a hug and told him that I loved him and quickly made some stupid joke about him not forgetting to let me know when he was dead. He disappeared into the cold sea air of Dover and, on our return to the bar, the room had lost all of it's warmth. We all quickly went our separate ways, vowing to keep in touch. That evening, I made the long journey back to London with a very heavy heart.

I don't believe in all that beyond the grave, Derek Acorah claptrap, but, it did make me wonder why I had woken up so early that morning. As I sat at the bottom of the stairs, scrolling through the contacts on my mobile phone and sending text messages to friends and colleagues of Martin's, I came across his mobile number and almost included him on the send-to list. He was, and, still is, very much alive in my head. I will miss him greatly and there is a rather large hole in my little world today.

Rest in Peace, Big Fella x

Back in the Saddle again

2009-01-30T01:00:00.011Z

After spending far, far too long in a covers band, I finally hit the stage as a solo performer on Thursday night. It is actually 8 years since I last performed as me and not some watered down, hiding behind other peoples songs, version of me. Okay, so it was only a slot at an Open Mic night, but, I played 2 of my new songs and they went down really well. At one point I swear I even saw some people stop talking during the second song and actually start listening, nodding their heads approvingly! It was a slightly bittersweet moment for me, as that very afternoon I had heard the news that the Great John Martyn had very sadly passed away. When I first heard "Solid Air" it was almost like an epiphany - you could play acoustic guitar and sing about love, hurt and death, without it turning into some dire blues cul- de - sac. I also loved the fact that here was this Oxymoron who sang like a wounded angel, but, was just as happy knocking back bucket loads of the black stuff and, then, getting into the boxing ring with his bass player, Danny Thompson, with only one thing on his mind - to smash the living shite out of Danny. Watching a recent documentary on the Big Man, it was quite startling to see him morph from the cherubic Folkie of his early years into the Colossus of later years. Two things remained constant, his utter lack of interest in the business and it's futile attempts to pigeonhole him, and his heartbreaking voice, which in later years had transformed into an almost drunken, slurring, jazz instrument all of it's own. I dedicated my second song to him and saw the that look in a few people's eyes around the room, who recognised the man's immense talent. And while some of those people were indeed "Old Heads", there were also a few of the younger members of the audience who knew of him as well. He always was one of our best kept secrets.

At the end of a very busy night where the performers ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous, I was buoyed by the sense of self belief in some of those people who, although their ambition far outweighed their talent, were clearly having a whale of a time and really going for it. A good time was had by all and, at the end of the night, I got chatting to one of my fellow artists who made some very kind remarks on my performance. As I was about to bid my farewells, she asked me why it had been 8 years since my last show. I did not have a real answer, I mumbled something about raising children, but, in all honesty there was no reason, other the fact that it is rooted within the struggle I have had for the last 25 years - do people actually like me?

Now, I realise that I am venturing into the realms of Psycho therapy cue cards, but, this latest musical venture had very little to do with Music. It was more to do with my crushing lack of Confidence and Self Belief, which then leads to Low Self Esteem - a most unholy trilogy. The much lamented, "Northern Exposure" TV show, once carried off almost half a series with a vertically challenged (in your face, P.C. brigade) character who was actually Ed Chigiak's low self esteem brought to life. Once Ed had realised that this condition was actually affecting his life, the scene ends with little guy, tail between his legs, wandering off into the woods. Now, I am not saying that I actually saw my little guy trundling off towards the exit of the Pub on Thursday night, following my performance, but, it did look an awful lot like he was searching for his coat.

Peas and Fluff

Mick

The Prisoner Escapes

2009-01-28T13:04:00.003Z

Greetings Ladies and Germs

“Where am I?”
“In the Village.”
“What do you want?”
“Information.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“That would be telling…. We want information. Information! INFORMATION!”
“You won’t get it.”
“By hook or by crook, we will.”
“Who are you?”
“The new Number Two.”
“Who is Number One?”
“You are Number Six.”
“I am not a number — I am a free man!”

I was very saddened to hear of the loss of Patrick McGoohan, last week. For those of you in the know, (for those f you not, why not?) the above exchange let you know that you were in for one hell of a TV ride, as you settled in for another episode of "The Prisoner".

Discussing the Big Mac's passing with some friends, it led us onto the subject of the, now rarely encountered, collective TV experience. Big Brother and it's ilk, notwithstanding, (they have me longing for the taste of Gunmetal in my mouth) the proliferation of TV channels available to the average schmo' is now so great that the chances of your friends, romans or country folk even watching the same program as you, let alone at the same time as you watched it, are growing ever more remote by the day. With hard disc recorders (Any excuse to put in print that my Tivo still rocks) now replacing the humble video recorder and the growth of On-Demand content available, it is possible that your counterpart may still watch the same programme as you, but, he may not actually get around to seeing it until six months or so later.
During our Guinness fuelled reminiscing, we could all remember watching the 1978 World Cup, Reggie Perrin (complete with full C.J. "One, two, three, four - make 'em sweat outside the door. Five, six, seven, eight - always pays to make 'em wait. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve -Come!" speech) and all agreed that Friday night was, indeed, Petrocelli night.

Now maybe this comes across as one of those "in my day" pieces of claptrap, but, it is not intended in that way at all. It is to illustrate that when shows like the "The Prisoner" were first shown, they were looking to provoke a reaction or even, healthy debate. Of course, if that show were released today it would not only be be fighting for airtime, but, it would be playing second fiddle to the Big Brother/I've got NO Talent/Celebrity Come Prancing brain-drain fodder. My guess is that the conversations would be something like this:

Q: "So, who do you think is really Number One in that "Prisoner" show?"
A: "Well, I reckon that" - 1 hour conversation ensues, covering Freedom, Mortality, Football, David Vine, Reggie Perrin and Parenthood.

Q: "Did you see how she never moved while she was sleeping on that bed in Big Brother?"
A: "Yeh"

Peas and Fluff

Mick

Did I mention George Martin?

2009-01-20T09:33:00.012Z

Greetings Ladies and Germs

Having recently started playing (or trying to, at least) the Piano again, I have realised that I have become what can only be described as "Stuck". I have no formal music training and my basic understanding of Music Theory could be written on the back of a matchbox and still leave enough space for a shopping list. So, some Piano lessons are in order. Having tried "Lessons" before, about 10 years ago, I was rather apprehensive as it was quite clear from my progress (or lack of) back then that "Lessons" were not for me. However, the Stuck needed un-sticking and following a few fruitless phone calls to various Tutors, a friend mentioned that there was a Piano teacher living a few doors away from them. After a brief telephone conversation with the man in question, it was decided that it would be best to meet in person to discuss my present state of stickiness.

So, on a very damp Monday morning (is there any other kind?) I made a visit to Sebastian. Now, as the name may suggest, Seb is somewhat Posh. Not snooty Posh, but, mid to late thirties, Well educated, Classically trained, slightly eccentric, warm and very funny, Posh. Sitting down behind his Steinway Grand Piano, I ham-fistedly showed him where I was at (Man!). To my surprise, I had not actually been doing anything fundamentally wrong, but, I just needed to understand what I was doing in order to move forward. Over the course of the next 2 hours we drank tea, discussed everything from Bach to The Beatles ("Do you ever feel like the Beatles are dying in the wrong order?"), discovered I can't sight read for sh*t and then very, very slowly I began to hear the sound of a light bulb being switched on.

Towards the end of our session, Seb said " Did I mention that I have worked with George Martin?" WTF! I nearly spat my Tea all over his beautiful Steinway! It transpires that when George (I'm on first names terms by vague association, you see) was working on his "In My Life" record towards the end of the 1990's, Seb actually played Harpsichord on the version of "Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite" which featured "The Big Yin" on vocals , no less. So, there you have it - I know a Man who knows George Martin, who, in turn, knows/knew The Beatles!

Therefore, with Seb, obviously, being the 6th, I'm practically the 7th Beatle.

Peas and Fluff,

Mick

Infamy, Infamy, They've all got it Infamy!

2009-01-08T10:22:00.007Z

New Years Greetings Ladies and Germs

I guess that we are all trying to leave our mark on this world in some shape or fashion. Be it lofty ambitions that could, ultimately, lead to Nobel Peace awards, Acedemic Accolades or, just, a mention in The Hackney Gazette. For me, I have always thought that the best opportunity would present itself through Music. I still dream that one day the Postman will walk down the street whisting one of my songs - the only true meter of success amongst the populous! Until then, my personal quest will continue via various Support gigs, Open mic slots, Demo tapes, MySpaces, Facebooks, Blogs and yes, even The Hackney Gazette.

But, hold on a minute there, Sparky....
Reading through the pages, and specifically the Obituaries section, of the February issue of Uncut magazine, I came across this little gem of an article.

MIKE TERRY 1940-2008
"Whenever Berry Gordy Jr needed a burning sax solo to punctuate hits by The Four Tops ("I can't help myself"), Martha and the Vandellas ("Heatwave"), The Supremes ("Where did our love go?") and The Isley Brothers ("This Old Heart of Mine"), Terry was the man"

Did you hear that? "Terry was the Man" Now, as if that isn't cool enough, This Old Heart Of Mine just happens to be my favourite 45 rpm of all time - spooky or what? And, there in lies the rub. After years of trying to put my stamp on this planet, it appears someone else has kindly pulled their size 9's on and done it for me. Infamy at last!

There's only problem with my new found fame - I'm already Dead!

Peas 'n' Fluff

Mick

Safe in Sound

2008-12-24T10:10:00.012Z

Seasons Greetings Ladies and Germs

Having had a glass of Sherry and reflecting back upon this year, I am still amazed at the turnaround in my Musical fortunes. After having spent the past Seven years or so in a covers band, I felt drained and barely had enough inspiration to pick up the guitar, let alone write a song. Then, a few serendipitous happenings took place and all of a sudden the Creative Juices were flowing again.

The first was going to see Danny George Wilson play a solo gig in March, now having watched his career from the early days I was blown away by how far he come on his musical journey and also by how much he had matured as both a Songwriter and a Performer. After many pints of Guinness that night, I returned home and, very drunkenly, began writing "Ringing like a Bell". This was the first song I had written in almost 6 years! It took about 3 weeks in total to complete, tweaking here and (Not Concert Pitch) tuning there, but, finally, I actually had a finished tune. It may not be a "Straight in at No.1" song, but, to me it was like pure audible gold.

The second happening came by way of MySpace. I decided to post some old demos on to the site for no better reason than boredom and, also, to see how easy/difficult it could be. Now, although I had known Danny for a few years, it was merely the "see each other at gigs and a have a pint" kind of relationship, but, I decided to email him the link to my MySpace page. He wrote back with some really encouraging comments and ended by saying "You should make a record, Go for it". The seed was, indeed, firmly planted.

The third and, probably most important, event was, again, through MySpace. One of the first people I became "Friends" (I still only have 18 Friends!) with was Jim Boggia. Now, for those of you who have never heard of Jim, he is, quite simply a Pop Genius. Not only is he a disgustingly talented and successful musician, but, he is a real FAN of music too. When he ok'd my Friend request, he also answered the little question about "After the Gold Rush" at the end of my "influences" section on the MySpace page. Wow, he had actually read my Blurb!!! We traded a few mails back and forth and, as mentioned in a previous post, one of my songs is now with Jim in Philadelphia awaiting his magic touch.

What I have come to learn over the last 12 months is that there are no barriers, only the ones that you, yourself, put up. Whilst discussing the events of the last year with a good friend over a few glasses of mulled wine (I don't have a problem, honest), he told me that Napoleon was once quoted as saying "There are no obstacles, only the objective". Now, even if the little Corsican fellow never uttered these words, I think they sum up my new attitude perfectly. Besides, any 5ft 2in dude who can wear one of those Tricorn hats and get away with it, must be worth listening to....

Peas 'n' Fluff and a Hippy New Year to all.

Mick

"Put it away, Plectrum"

2008-12-21T08:40:00.000Z

Seasons Greeetings Ladies and Germs

This week I took a train down to the coast. A very rare occurrence for me, in that I am seldom tempted out from "behind the wheel of a large automobile" (Talking Heads anyone?), but, as I was going to have a small glass of sherry at my destination I decided to let the train take the strain.

For the journey I took along my trusty iPod and having recently loaded the L.E.O. Alpacas Orgling album (check it out here http://www.myspace.com/bleuleo) I thought this would be a serious opportunity to geek out on all things related to the Stereo field. For the Non- musos out there this relates to the "Eureka" moment of my childhood when I first placed a a pair of ridiculously large Headphones atop of my tiny swede and realised that some instruments/voices seemed to be kind of off centre or, even stranger, moving from one side of my head to the other. To simplify, imagine you have on a pair of the previously mentioned, "Tony Blackburn", style, large Heaphones (curly lead optional). Basically, after all the parts of a song are recorded they are placed (or Panned, if you're Bob Clearmountain) either in the centre (top of your head or 12 o'clock ), Hard Left (your left Ear or 9 o'clock) or Hard Right (your Right Ear or 3 o'clock). This is how the Stereo field is created. If you are really geeky you will realise that some parts are actually panned in between these points and this is where my childhood Archimedes moment kicked in.

Ever since I first got a multitrack recorder, I have always been blown away by how much you can change the dynamic of a song by moving one instrument from the centre of the mix to the left or right side of the mix. All this just by twisting the mixing desk pan control from one side to the other. This is also probably the main reason I have never finished recording an album and why, realising that I am entering into the world of double entendres, Knob Twiddling is my downfall. I can see why Brian Wilson made everyone in the studio wear Firemens Helmets while they recorded "Mrs O'Learys Cow (Fire)" - the Studio is just one great, big adventure playground for Musicians.

Coming back in where this thread started, The L.E.O. record is a kind of tribute to Jeff Lynne's mighty E.L.O., but, more songs written and recorded in the style of ELO, rather than a straight a cover version tribute. Over the course of a 1.5 hour train journey, I blissed out to the fantastic songs and over obsessed to the clever tricks in the Stereo mix. My fellow passengers were completely unaware that, all the while, I had been sitting there with one thing on my mind - "Twiddling my Knob".

Peas and Fluff 'n' Christmas stuff

Mick

Never a Dull Moment

2008-12-05T21:48:00.000Z

Greetings Ladies and Germs

Well, I am about to embark upon a Atlantic Crossing. Well, not me actually, but, rather one of my songs. For said song, or at least the makings of, will be Sailing across stormy waters bound for Philadelphia. The recipient will be a fantastically talented individual (let's just call him Winnie Cooper for now) who has agreed to play a few games of Pro Tools chess. For the non Muso's this translates as I send him a rough demo of my song, he pours magic "Phil Spector" fairy dust over it, sends it back to me and I try to outdo him knowing all the while that I'm gonna get four-move checkmated by him every time.

Now, being honest, I am both excited and worried in equal measures regarding this new venture. I have never been one of those "Songwriters workshop" type of writers, so this is a real departure for me, but, this guy has given me a Reason to Believe. And if Winnie really can turn my pile of musical Debris into a Long player, then this should really be the First Step towards the Shape of Things to come.

I should really apologise for the lame-ass attempt at humour, but, it's Friday, the eggnog has been flowing and any excuse to get Rod Stewart references into a post works for me. I was only Joking, Ahem............

Peas and Fluff

Mick

Here is the News, I mean Muse.........

2008-11-20T13:34:00.000Z

Greetings Ladles and Germs

As Jimmy Greaves used to say, "Songwriting is a funny old game". Much has been said on the subject and among my favourite theories is the one whereby the Songwriter is basically a Antenna and Songs are simply signals floating around in the ether waiting to be tuned in (turned on, dropped out?). Now that is, indeed, a lovely image of the Songwriter sat with either a Pencil (true Artist), a Pen (struggling Musician) or a Laptop (Teenager) and grabbing these Tunes out of the sky and claiming them as their own. However, in reality (well, mine at least) it is more akin to staring blankly at four walls, praying for inspiration to beam you on the head, Newton -Apple style.

Inspiration comes in the strangest form and, presently, the Muse of yours truly is to be found within the pages of the mighty (mighty, spade and whitey) Facebook, of all places. No, Please wait, before you switch off - let me explain. On signing up to be a "Booker" (I have no idea if that is the correct term, but, I prefer it to "Fooker"), I hooked up with a lot of old school friends and someone had posted a school photo from 1975 and I got to wondering what curveballs life had thrown at those boys over the last 33 years. Well, before I knew it The Muse had turned on the Hot Tap and was filling up the Bath for me to hop in and soak it all up (you just don't get that kind of analogy in the Guardian). Some 3 weeks later I am 4 new songs to the good and, trust me, for someone who once took 10 years to complete a song, that is nothing short of an Elvis Costello-like output rate.

Today's show was brought to you by the Number 3 and the Letters J and Z.

N.B. Pronounced Zee if you are either
A: American
B: A Sesame street addict or
C: Under 13

Pronounced Zed if you are either
A: Quentin Tarantino
B: Frank Windsor or
C: Had no access to a TV in the 70's

Peas and Glove

Mick

Are we Taping this?

2008-11-19T10:00:00.000Z

Greetings Ladies and Germs

As mentioned previously, back in the day, I recorded onto Analogue tape recorders (Reel to Reels, as my Dad calls them). The only other choice of affordable recording format available was cassette tape based Portastudios and while these were a great first step into the world of Multitrack recording the recording quality did get pretty noisy. Tape Hiss to be precise. Now, I recently unearthed the master tapes for the first ever recording session I did back in 1982. A few old friends/band members asked if I had a copy of said Demo tape, no names mentioned, but, for the sake of privacy laws, let's just call them Ray and Paul, Doh! As I still have an old Revox recorder in the cellar I thought it would be fun (perhaps not the best term to describe what eventually transpired) to transfer the master tapes into Pro Tools and make some MP3's to send to the guys. Now, the Revox is a lovely old machine, but, like any Vintage equipment it actually needs a service once in a while. Which in my case means service it once and we'll worry about the while later.

A few days later, I fired up the Revox and, Hey Presto, all the lights came on and it actually seemed to be working. I loaded the tape, set up the Mac and hit record - easy and ,indeed peasy. Next, came that moment of pure clarity (a bit like the line in Father Ted where he explains to Dougal why some cows are bigger than others "Some cows are near and Some cows are far away, Dougal") whereby I realised that there are rules to easy-peasy ness:

1: If it looks easy, it's not.
2: See Number 1 above.
3: There is no Number 3, but, 1 & 2 looked a bit lonely and I always preferred Trios to Duos.

So, imagine the fun I had trying unravel the tape that had wrapped itself around the Capstan (a spindle on the Revox and not Headwear for Hard drinking, Heavy gambling, ex-QPR players), it was quite the "Oh Merde" moment. The end result is that the master tapes now have a lovely loud "Pop" sound every 10 seconds or so when played.

The moral to this story is that "The Past" is called "The Past" for a reason. When you bring "The Past" into "The Future", they do not always result in a nice "Present".
Or, to put it more simply:

Don't fuck with "The Past".........

Best regrets,

Mick

Mellowed Ron?

2008-11-16T07:23:00.000Z

Greetings Ladies and Germs

"What's a Mellotron?" I hear you ask. Well, for starters it's not Jeff Bridges bogarting a Joint. It is, of course, one of the earliest sampling keyboards produced way back in the 60's. Still not with me? Think of the intro to "Strawberry Fields Forever" - ah yes, now you 've got it. Well, those wobbly sounding Flutes at the beginning were played on the mighty Mellotron keyboard.

Now as any Beatles obsessed Musician will tell you, that sound is almost like the Holy Grail when it comes to wearing your influences on your sleeve (not quite sure where Jeff Beck wears his). So, with that requirement in mind I got to thinking that the Tron sound would sound really cool on the middle eight of my new song, "Hoxton Song". Armed with the new GForce M-Tron Pro software instrument, based on the Mellotron and it's many incarnations (Optigan, Birotron anyone?) I set about adding the hallowed flutes to the track - some 4 hours later it was all done, when I say 4 hours what I really mean is 1 hour to record the Mellotron parts and 3 hours wallowing in the majesty of tape based sampling. Now can I interest you in a small slice of Brass B revised, with perhaps a side of Chamberlin Harp Arpeggios? No? Perhaps Sir would prefer the Black Sabbath Choir instead?

Anyhoo, you can check out the song at http://www.myspace.com/mickeyterry and for those non-practising musicians in the audience, the middle eight of a song is the bit which is neither the verse or the chorus. It is also supposed to be eight bars in length, but, Hey, who's counting?

Best regrets,

Mick

Let the Recording commence...............

2008-11-12T13:58:00.000Z

Greetings Ladies and Germs

So, after bathing in a Tsunami of nostalgia for the last few months - read as: Man finds old demo tapes, Man listens to old demo tapes, Man decides old demo tapes are not a quite the musical legacy he remembered, I have decided to resurrect my recording career and finally complete the long overdue, unfinished, lost, etc, etc, Debut album. This blog is intended to Diary the events leading up to, and including, the release of the Opus that I have heard in my head all these years.

Let's set the scene: After certain changes in lifestyle, i.e. The arrival of children, my Recording Studio has taken on an Incredible Shrinking Man-like quality and transformed itself into a combination of Pro Tools and a MacBook Pro. Now I, being an old analogue head, have to admit that while I will always miss the sight, sound and smell(!) of a (Please insert preferred Tape size here) Reel to Reel tape machine spinning away in the corner, I have rather enjoyed going over to the dark,digital side. Of course there are arguments for both sides ala'
Tape: Press record, song gets recorded.
Digital: Press record, press record again, press reboot (one for all you PC users out there).
Tape: Press record, Spend evening untangling tape from tape heads.
Digital: Press record, press save, press play on DVD and watch Sopranos boxed set for remainder of evening.

Now inbetween trying to find time to record the aforementioned LP, there is the little matter of actually writing the material for it. In true Blue Peter style there are already 5 songs "I prepared earlier", so that leaves a shortfall of 5 songs (or 2 songs if you're The Blue Nile). After the recent purchase of a full size Piano, new stuff seems to pouring out faster than a can of Hooch goes into a wino's belly and so the first twist to the long imagined opus is that rather than being the guitar driven, Power Pop extravaganza I had always yearned for, it appears to be heading into "Singer/Songwriter" territory. The absence of James Blunt references, either by comparison or rhyming slang, would be much appreciated. The arrogance of youth appears to have been replaced with, dare I say those terms, Maturity, Lived in quality, World Weary- yikes....... Taxi!!!!!!

Come with me now on a journey into sound.

Warm Wishes

Mick

And so, Dear Reader..........

2008-11-11T12:43:00.000Z

Greetings Ladies and Germs

After lurking in various corners of cyberspace over the last decade, enough is enough. It's now time to publish the ramblings of what is now left of my addled brain. So, over the coming days, weeks, months and years (yeah, right!) there will be an outpouring, on a semi regular basis, of stuff that stimulates my psyche enough to commit it to text or, failing that, the late night ramblings of a drunken musician.

Let the fun begin.

Mick