Mick Terry - Pop is NOT a dirty word

Tuesday 8 November 2011

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

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 Cooper 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.

Monday 7 November 2011

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

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.

Sunday 6 November 2011

Happy Birthday to "The Grown Ups": Tinseltown

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.

Saturday 5 November 2011

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

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....

Friday 4 November 2011

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

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.

Thursday 3 November 2011

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

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……

Wednesday 2 November 2011

Happy Birthday to "The Grown Ups": Comets

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.