At least they do in the South of Bristol anyways.
The party that was described in my last blog was a great success, with a variety of friends of the birthday boy arriving all dressed in a variety of cowboy and red Indian costumes (apart from one chap who had clearly read his invite wrong and turned up as a Blues Brother….either that or he was proud of said costume and was determined to wear it regardless) and all cramped into a domestic kitchen until much jollity was had by all.
It was noted by the band that we have in fact played in smaller venues, and to much smaller crowds so we didn’t complain and ‘went for it’ with as much gusto as we could manage.
As I have mentioned previously, we are NOT a country & western band….although I do have to confess that having got hold of a C & W greatest hits album to get me ‘in the mood’ I found myself singing happily along to Dolly Parton’s ‘Jolie’ and ‘Coward of the County’.
However, we thought that in this case we really ought to make an effort to sing something that at least had a ‘Country’ feel to it, so that morning I managed to download and memorise ‘D.I.V.O.R.C.E as sung by Billy Connolly. If song doesn’t ring any bells then get yourself onto Youtube and have a look.
I also managed to remember the words to an old John Denver song called ‘Grandmother’s feather bed’.
I always remember that song fondly from my childhood and didn’t in my innocence see anything untoward about it at all.
Unfortunately, the crowd we were performing to tonight was made up largely of rugby players and their spouses.
They found great amusement in the concept of “having a lot of fun on grandmother’s feather bed”, especially as that ‘fun’ included “8 sheep, six hound dogs and a piggy we’d stolen from the shed”.
By the time I had sung the line about “wrestling with my cousin” I began to wish I had tried to remember the words to ‘Annie’s Song’ instead.
All in all it was fun evening, especially as they plied CJ and Aaron with free beer (muggings here had negotiate the snow and ice so stayed away from anything that might result in my skidding into the back of a snow plough).
By the time we had finished out two hour set the crowd were in good form and were in the mood to sing…roaring that immortal line to the birthday boy “Why was he born so beautiful, why was he born at all”. The rest is unprintable.
Leaving CJ to enjoy himself Aaron and I managed to discreetly slip away, with a few cans for later secreted in our pockets, and bought ourselves a curry on the way home.
Now, if that is what County and Western music is all about, I might be tempted to do some more.
Only ‘tempted’ mind you.
Monday, 9 February 2009
Friday, 6 February 2009
Do cowboys like the snow?
“How do you know when the stage the drums are set on (drum riser) is level?.......when he begins to dribble out of both sides of his mouth!
You should never let the drummer organise the gigs, if you do then you will end up performing gigs like we have tonight….in somebody’s kitchen and dressed as cowboys.
My apologies to our American cousins, but I firmly believe that there are only two REAL evils in this world, ‘Country’ and ‘Western’.
So to be performing for a ‘surprise’ birthday party that has said Country & Western theme isn’t really considered to be a plus….although I am sure that I am going to cut a fine dash in my Stetson.
In all seriousness, we each do a ‘favour’ gig for each member of the band (co’s were good like that) and this on is for a friend of CJ’s, although the sting was taken out of this particular tail when CJ informed Aaron and I that we were in fact getting, fed, watered AND paid….top result then.
One big problem however. We are currently experiencing the heaviest snowfall in Bristol in over three decades, and it does not look as if there is any indication that it is going to let up. There is a very real possibility that we may not be able to get there.
Now, those American cousins that I mentioned may well scoff at the confusion that reigns when we get even the lightest dusting of snow. All over the radio we have heard accounts of smug American’s and Scandinavians who get to work despite three foot of snow EVERY night.
However, they get this climate every year, we haven’t had even close to this much snow since about 1986, and even then it was pretty much gone within 24 hours.
You have to admit that this particular ‘white adventure’ is pretty much a rarity for us Brits.
It was amazing to walk to work this morning to see the misery of a long line of lorries that had slewed to an embarrassing halt on the hill a short way from my house.
As they yelled insults and accusations regarding the ineffectual response of the Councils gritting Lorries, I had to fight an over whelming urge to wander up to them and say
“oh, innit pretty”.
I imagine there response would be swift and far from pretty.
So as I sit here in the deserted school where I have my NHS office and contemplate the long walk home, I ponder the question; do real cowboys like the snow.
I’ll let you know how we get on.
You should never let the drummer organise the gigs, if you do then you will end up performing gigs like we have tonight….in somebody’s kitchen and dressed as cowboys.
My apologies to our American cousins, but I firmly believe that there are only two REAL evils in this world, ‘Country’ and ‘Western’.
So to be performing for a ‘surprise’ birthday party that has said Country & Western theme isn’t really considered to be a plus….although I am sure that I am going to cut a fine dash in my Stetson.
In all seriousness, we each do a ‘favour’ gig for each member of the band (co’s were good like that) and this on is for a friend of CJ’s, although the sting was taken out of this particular tail when CJ informed Aaron and I that we were in fact getting, fed, watered AND paid….top result then.
One big problem however. We are currently experiencing the heaviest snowfall in Bristol in over three decades, and it does not look as if there is any indication that it is going to let up. There is a very real possibility that we may not be able to get there.
Now, those American cousins that I mentioned may well scoff at the confusion that reigns when we get even the lightest dusting of snow. All over the radio we have heard accounts of smug American’s and Scandinavians who get to work despite three foot of snow EVERY night.
However, they get this climate every year, we haven’t had even close to this much snow since about 1986, and even then it was pretty much gone within 24 hours.
You have to admit that this particular ‘white adventure’ is pretty much a rarity for us Brits.
It was amazing to walk to work this morning to see the misery of a long line of lorries that had slewed to an embarrassing halt on the hill a short way from my house.
As they yelled insults and accusations regarding the ineffectual response of the Councils gritting Lorries, I had to fight an over whelming urge to wander up to them and say
“oh, innit pretty”.
I imagine there response would be swift and far from pretty.
So as I sit here in the deserted school where I have my NHS office and contemplate the long walk home, I ponder the question; do real cowboys like the snow.
I’ll let you know how we get on.
Friday, 30 January 2009
A moment in history.
I write music reviews for a website called ‘Cross Rhythms’, which to be honest isn’t as exciting as it sounds. Sure I get sent loads of free CD’s, however the tendency is that if it is a good one I have to return it for the CR library.
The biggest drag with reviewing at this point in history is that Christian music on the whole tends to be going down the ‘Cold Play’, ‘Keane’ mellowed out, intellectual angst route. Whereas 20 years ago, if you were middle aged and middle class and wanting to show that you were ‘cool’ you listen to ‘Dire Straights’ (I know by which I speak, I used to run a Hi Fi shop and those persons that I described ALWAYS brought along their prized copy of ‘Brothers in Arms’ to demo their intended purchase.)
It got to the point that my staff began playing ‘The Wurzals’ over the shops music system as an act of rebellion.
Nowadays, it’s the day of the ‘Glastonbury’ headliners (stop me if you disagree).
The trouble is, the world and his wife are producing bands that sound just like they have finished having a full depressive breakdown. Hordes of corduroy wearing, unshaven, long haired college types, hammering away on their un distorted guitars and pub pianos about the bleakness of existence.
And I have to review it.
As somebody who absolutely refuses to slag off somebody else’s work, I try my very best to find something good and laudable to pen in each review. Believe you me I am getting very good at ‘creative’ writing. However, I am currently staring at two CD’s that without actually ‘lying’ could result in me hurting somebodies feelings.
So you can imagine my joy when a re-released classic fell on my doorstep and contained a bonus track recorded live at a gig I was actually at.
The album was ‘In another land’ and the artiste is ‘Larry Norman.
Now for those of you not in the know (which presumably are the majority of you) Larry Norman was the first Christian ‘Superstar’.
An American that started his career in the 60’s, Norman penned some classics that most church kids who owned a guitar in the 70’s cut their teeth on.
However, to that gig I mentioned.
Myself and my good friend ‘Bassbin’ travelled to a festival called Greenbelt in 1979 in Darren’s dark blue escort van (I only mention that van because I am sure it is going to feature in several other blogs in the future and so I thought I ought to take this opportunity to introduce it to you).
This was quite a moment for me as Bassbin has always declined to get involved in all things ‘God Bothering’ by nature and so to get him to come along with me to a ‘Christian Festival was a result.
Now it was a great festival and left a mark in history, and I promise I will give you a proper account of the weekend as there were some truly hilarious as well as revolting moments.
However, for this particular article there were two stand out moments. One was the realisation that when two blokes sleep in the back of a van, you need to keep the windows open just a tad….or you suffocate.
The other was the headline gig on the Saturday night.
The headliner was one Cliff Richard. Now I know that he has come in for a lot of stick over the years, but he is actually a very good performer and back in 1979 he was at his peak.
Half way through his set he introduced a singer from America and much to the delight of the 25,000 strong crowd, Larry Norman strolled onto stage, his long blond hair shining in the spot lights and blowing in the breeze.
They then launched into a song that Bassbin and I had been trying to perfect for years ‘The rock that doesn’t roll’…….pure rock & roll magic. The already over excited crowd went utterly bonkers, and it is a memory that stays with me today.
So as I said, I was delight at having to write a review for not only a classic album (his whole back catalogue is being re-released as Norman sadly died at an all too young age this time last year), but at finding that somebody had recorded that same song from 30 years ago, re-mastered it and here it was……..on my Hi fi.
Beats the heck out of ‘Dire Straights’ and ‘Cold Play’ I can tell you.
Altogether now!
“Well, it’s good for your body and it’s great for your soul, he’s the rock that doesn’t roll”.
The biggest drag with reviewing at this point in history is that Christian music on the whole tends to be going down the ‘Cold Play’, ‘Keane’ mellowed out, intellectual angst route. Whereas 20 years ago, if you were middle aged and middle class and wanting to show that you were ‘cool’ you listen to ‘Dire Straights’ (I know by which I speak, I used to run a Hi Fi shop and those persons that I described ALWAYS brought along their prized copy of ‘Brothers in Arms’ to demo their intended purchase.)
It got to the point that my staff began playing ‘The Wurzals’ over the shops music system as an act of rebellion.
Nowadays, it’s the day of the ‘Glastonbury’ headliners (stop me if you disagree).
The trouble is, the world and his wife are producing bands that sound just like they have finished having a full depressive breakdown. Hordes of corduroy wearing, unshaven, long haired college types, hammering away on their un distorted guitars and pub pianos about the bleakness of existence.
And I have to review it.
As somebody who absolutely refuses to slag off somebody else’s work, I try my very best to find something good and laudable to pen in each review. Believe you me I am getting very good at ‘creative’ writing. However, I am currently staring at two CD’s that without actually ‘lying’ could result in me hurting somebodies feelings.
So you can imagine my joy when a re-released classic fell on my doorstep and contained a bonus track recorded live at a gig I was actually at.
The album was ‘In another land’ and the artiste is ‘Larry Norman.
Now for those of you not in the know (which presumably are the majority of you) Larry Norman was the first Christian ‘Superstar’.
An American that started his career in the 60’s, Norman penned some classics that most church kids who owned a guitar in the 70’s cut their teeth on.
However, to that gig I mentioned.
Myself and my good friend ‘Bassbin’ travelled to a festival called Greenbelt in 1979 in Darren’s dark blue escort van (I only mention that van because I am sure it is going to feature in several other blogs in the future and so I thought I ought to take this opportunity to introduce it to you).
This was quite a moment for me as Bassbin has always declined to get involved in all things ‘God Bothering’ by nature and so to get him to come along with me to a ‘Christian Festival was a result.
Now it was a great festival and left a mark in history, and I promise I will give you a proper account of the weekend as there were some truly hilarious as well as revolting moments.
However, for this particular article there were two stand out moments. One was the realisation that when two blokes sleep in the back of a van, you need to keep the windows open just a tad….or you suffocate.
The other was the headline gig on the Saturday night.
The headliner was one Cliff Richard. Now I know that he has come in for a lot of stick over the years, but he is actually a very good performer and back in 1979 he was at his peak.
Half way through his set he introduced a singer from America and much to the delight of the 25,000 strong crowd, Larry Norman strolled onto stage, his long blond hair shining in the spot lights and blowing in the breeze.
They then launched into a song that Bassbin and I had been trying to perfect for years ‘The rock that doesn’t roll’…….pure rock & roll magic. The already over excited crowd went utterly bonkers, and it is a memory that stays with me today.
So as I said, I was delight at having to write a review for not only a classic album (his whole back catalogue is being re-released as Norman sadly died at an all too young age this time last year), but at finding that somebody had recorded that same song from 30 years ago, re-mastered it and here it was……..on my Hi fi.
Beats the heck out of ‘Dire Straights’ and ‘Cold Play’ I can tell you.
Altogether now!
“Well, it’s good for your body and it’s great for your soul, he’s the rock that doesn’t roll”.
Wednesday, 28 January 2009
An ambition
This could be interesting.
One of the things that The Mudheads would like to do this year is go back into the studio and record something. This has been something I haven’t done since 1995 when Mudheads Monkey recorded Shout! an album that actually made money and sold surprisingly well in Norway.
Regular readers of this blog will recognise the producer of Shout! As Jez Coad, a long term friend of mine and now a well respected producer of named bands (he has just finished recording his second collaboration with Simple Minds).
As I thoroughly enjoy working with Jez and I firmly believe that he gets the best out of me, I approached him again to see if he could help The Mudheads record an EP (that’s an old fashioned term for you under 25’s meaning ‘extended play’…in English a CD with about four tracks on it).
Jez said that he would be delighted to work with us again and gave me some advice and suggestions to take back to the band.
The most exciting advice was that we should record the tracks at the Rockfield studio’s in Monmouth.
Now I am betting none of you have heard of that name before, however I am pretty sure that you would have heard of at least one song that was historically recorded there.
Does the name Bohemian Rhapsody mean any thing to any of you?
So there we go, excited or what!!
However, this is a big boy’s studio that charge big boy fees. Even with nice guy Jez pulling a few favours and strings, it could still cost a packet. More that three struggling gigging musicians from Bristol can afford that’s for pretty darn sure.
Or maybe not.
I shall keep you all up to date with developments.
Oh, incidentally, we have several other ambitions for the band this year….mine is to get Bassbin along to a gig……I however, I think that recording in one of Britain’s nay the worlds, most famous studios is going to be easier to pull off.
One of the things that The Mudheads would like to do this year is go back into the studio and record something. This has been something I haven’t done since 1995 when Mudheads Monkey recorded Shout! an album that actually made money and sold surprisingly well in Norway.
Regular readers of this blog will recognise the producer of Shout! As Jez Coad, a long term friend of mine and now a well respected producer of named bands (he has just finished recording his second collaboration with Simple Minds).
As I thoroughly enjoy working with Jez and I firmly believe that he gets the best out of me, I approached him again to see if he could help The Mudheads record an EP (that’s an old fashioned term for you under 25’s meaning ‘extended play’…in English a CD with about four tracks on it).
Jez said that he would be delighted to work with us again and gave me some advice and suggestions to take back to the band.
The most exciting advice was that we should record the tracks at the Rockfield studio’s in Monmouth.
Now I am betting none of you have heard of that name before, however I am pretty sure that you would have heard of at least one song that was historically recorded there.
Does the name Bohemian Rhapsody mean any thing to any of you?
So there we go, excited or what!!
However, this is a big boy’s studio that charge big boy fees. Even with nice guy Jez pulling a few favours and strings, it could still cost a packet. More that three struggling gigging musicians from Bristol can afford that’s for pretty darn sure.
Or maybe not.
I shall keep you all up to date with developments.
Oh, incidentally, we have several other ambitions for the band this year….mine is to get Bassbin along to a gig……I however, I think that recording in one of Britain’s nay the worlds, most famous studios is going to be easier to pull off.
Monday, 26 January 2009
Where was Jeremy Clarkson when I needed him?
Even Rock God’s get the odd ‘mid life’ crisis to deal with…providing they are of the age to have a mid life crisis of course.
This particular insult has been heaped upon me by the individuals I call my family over the incident of ‘a new car’.
I have always had a hankering for a two seater sports car that has the capacity to go from nought to death in about three and half seconds.
This longing was first brought about by a teenage friend who had a Triumph Spitfire, and then compounded by my musical colleague Matt from Mudheads Monkey who had a Toyota MR2.
Please don’t be mislead by this gentle (slightly rotund) persona that I portray. I was brought up on motor bikes and I like speed, especially when I am dry and warm and I can crank the radio RIGHT up.
The current Rock God mode of transport is now, like its owner, showing the wear and tear signs of age and has a boot that leaks so badly that I have my own re-enactment of the Servern Bore taking place in my boot (trunk) on a daily basis.
The car is now so damp that I have ice on the inside of the windows and not on the outside where it is supposed to be.
With this in mind, I and ‘Mrs Rock God’ went for a little ‘look’ at some of the vehicles that might be available in my price range. And spurred on by wide reports that in light of the current ‘credit crunch’ dealers are practically ‘giving’ them away I was optimistic and enthusiastic.
Can I say right from the outset that the expression ‘practically giving them away’ is a steaming pile of poo….unless of course you feel that fifteen thousand quid is a snip. I however, who work for this countries fine health service, do not.
‘Giving it away’ in my estimation would constitute a fine and shiny new motor car given in exchange for a signed copy of my latest album and a bag of wine gums.
This however is not the case. The salesman require ‘mucho mulla’ in order to keep them in sharp suits and jangling bling and this one descended on myself and my wife with as much enthusiasm as a vulture from the Disney film ‘The Jungle Book’ with genuine promises to ‘be my friend’.
I knew it was a dead cause as I sat longingly behind the wheel of a Mazda MX 5 dreaming of the open road ‘poop poop’ and my wife went and made a beeline for a dramatically and painfully sensible people carrier type thing that had a terrifying air of ‘conservative family man’ about it.
My protestations of “What do I need something that big for” fell upon deaf and unsympathetic ears and the reply “what are you going to do with something as small as that”.
Now ignoring the obvious double entente of this remark, and before anybody else states the obvious, I defended my choice that I know longer required a vehicle that could transport ‘children’.
My wife is definitely not slow off of the remark retorted “Go on then, open the boot, where are you going to put your guitars then?”
Fearing the worse I nodded to the salesman to open said boot to reveal a space that would have been inadequate to transport your average sized lunch box let alone a couple of Takamine acoustic guitars.
As I desperately tried to find reasoned and acceptable ways to get around this problem, the salesman sadly shook his head as he witness the grumbling of yet another dream of the wide open road, top down, wind whipping through what is left of a greying head of hair.
I finally accepted my fate and that unlike Toad of Toad Hall, I would probably be better off with that flippin canary yellow cart and not the silver, slim line ego booster that I lusted after.
Does anybody know where I can buy horse feed… cheap!!
This particular insult has been heaped upon me by the individuals I call my family over the incident of ‘a new car’.
I have always had a hankering for a two seater sports car that has the capacity to go from nought to death in about three and half seconds.
This longing was first brought about by a teenage friend who had a Triumph Spitfire, and then compounded by my musical colleague Matt from Mudheads Monkey who had a Toyota MR2.
Please don’t be mislead by this gentle (slightly rotund) persona that I portray. I was brought up on motor bikes and I like speed, especially when I am dry and warm and I can crank the radio RIGHT up.
The current Rock God mode of transport is now, like its owner, showing the wear and tear signs of age and has a boot that leaks so badly that I have my own re-enactment of the Servern Bore taking place in my boot (trunk) on a daily basis.
The car is now so damp that I have ice on the inside of the windows and not on the outside where it is supposed to be.
With this in mind, I and ‘Mrs Rock God’ went for a little ‘look’ at some of the vehicles that might be available in my price range. And spurred on by wide reports that in light of the current ‘credit crunch’ dealers are practically ‘giving’ them away I was optimistic and enthusiastic.
Can I say right from the outset that the expression ‘practically giving them away’ is a steaming pile of poo….unless of course you feel that fifteen thousand quid is a snip. I however, who work for this countries fine health service, do not.
‘Giving it away’ in my estimation would constitute a fine and shiny new motor car given in exchange for a signed copy of my latest album and a bag of wine gums.
This however is not the case. The salesman require ‘mucho mulla’ in order to keep them in sharp suits and jangling bling and this one descended on myself and my wife with as much enthusiasm as a vulture from the Disney film ‘The Jungle Book’ with genuine promises to ‘be my friend’.
I knew it was a dead cause as I sat longingly behind the wheel of a Mazda MX 5 dreaming of the open road ‘poop poop’ and my wife went and made a beeline for a dramatically and painfully sensible people carrier type thing that had a terrifying air of ‘conservative family man’ about it.
My protestations of “What do I need something that big for” fell upon deaf and unsympathetic ears and the reply “what are you going to do with something as small as that”.
Now ignoring the obvious double entente of this remark, and before anybody else states the obvious, I defended my choice that I know longer required a vehicle that could transport ‘children’.
My wife is definitely not slow off of the remark retorted “Go on then, open the boot, where are you going to put your guitars then?”
Fearing the worse I nodded to the salesman to open said boot to reveal a space that would have been inadequate to transport your average sized lunch box let alone a couple of Takamine acoustic guitars.
As I desperately tried to find reasoned and acceptable ways to get around this problem, the salesman sadly shook his head as he witness the grumbling of yet another dream of the wide open road, top down, wind whipping through what is left of a greying head of hair.
I finally accepted my fate and that unlike Toad of Toad Hall, I would probably be better off with that flippin canary yellow cart and not the silver, slim line ego booster that I lusted after.
Does anybody know where I can buy horse feed… cheap!!
Tuesday, 13 January 2009
Has anybody seen my spleen?
Well I survived the gig with most of my lungs intact…although I am suffering an almighty headache today…..and before you ask, no it was not self inflicted. They wheeled out a local cider at this place that bubbled…I thought it best to leave well alone and stick to that black sticky American soft drink that the police clean the blood off of the roads with.
We performed our best, although my singing voice wasn’t up to much (comments like “so what’s new” are not appreciated) and Aaron had to take over on several occasions when I doubled up with a hacking cough.
His concern really came from his experience of this particular virus with myself and his mother coughing so badly that we….well……without putting to fine a point on it…puked!
Now I know that the harder edge of Heavy Metal vomit on stage as part of the act. The keyboard player from ‘Cradle of Filth’ (a good Christian band much sought out for Sunday school parties) regularly vomited up a mixture of plum tomatoes and latex to particularly stunning effect.
However, the sight of a 40 something doubled up, cradling his acoustic guitar and hocking up his sticky toffee pudding and custard in a local public house would probably not be greatly appreciated by the management and punters alike and would probably guarantee a life time blockade on ever being asked to return.
Anyway, apart from having to recover my spleen from behind the bar where it had landed no great damage was done, apart from the irreparable beating my dignity took.
By the looks of it, 2009 will probably see the return of more acoustic style music to The Loader’s repertoire, especially as we do not have to cart about two and half tonne of equipment around with us. That is not to say that The Mudheads will in anyway slow down, but we are endeavouring to be more selective on the type of gigs we play.
On the journey home from the gig Aaron made an encouraging observation.
He works in a massive music store with lots of other musicians who apparently tend to give him a fair amount of stick for performing in a band with his old man.
His response to these ‘serious’ musicians is philosophical. He said that most of these guys spend most of their time ‘talking’ about music and dreaming of that big major record deal.
Aaron concedes that he does play in a band with his dad, but he is out there doing it and not just talking about it. He is also generally getting paid for it, which in his mind is a real bonus.
So on behalf of the ‘old farts’ in The Mudheads (which generally speaking means me)…and to quote The Who……”I hope that I die before I get (TOO) old”.
Rock & roll
We performed our best, although my singing voice wasn’t up to much (comments like “so what’s new” are not appreciated) and Aaron had to take over on several occasions when I doubled up with a hacking cough.
His concern really came from his experience of this particular virus with myself and his mother coughing so badly that we….well……without putting to fine a point on it…puked!
Now I know that the harder edge of Heavy Metal vomit on stage as part of the act. The keyboard player from ‘Cradle of Filth’ (a good Christian band much sought out for Sunday school parties) regularly vomited up a mixture of plum tomatoes and latex to particularly stunning effect.
However, the sight of a 40 something doubled up, cradling his acoustic guitar and hocking up his sticky toffee pudding and custard in a local public house would probably not be greatly appreciated by the management and punters alike and would probably guarantee a life time blockade on ever being asked to return.
Anyway, apart from having to recover my spleen from behind the bar where it had landed no great damage was done, apart from the irreparable beating my dignity took.
By the looks of it, 2009 will probably see the return of more acoustic style music to The Loader’s repertoire, especially as we do not have to cart about two and half tonne of equipment around with us. That is not to say that The Mudheads will in anyway slow down, but we are endeavouring to be more selective on the type of gigs we play.
On the journey home from the gig Aaron made an encouraging observation.
He works in a massive music store with lots of other musicians who apparently tend to give him a fair amount of stick for performing in a band with his old man.
His response to these ‘serious’ musicians is philosophical. He said that most of these guys spend most of their time ‘talking’ about music and dreaming of that big major record deal.
Aaron concedes that he does play in a band with his dad, but he is out there doing it and not just talking about it. He is also generally getting paid for it, which in his mind is a real bonus.
So on behalf of the ‘old farts’ in The Mudheads (which generally speaking means me)…and to quote The Who……”I hope that I die before I get (TOO) old”.
Rock & roll
Monday, 12 January 2009
Death of a folk singer
I really am not looking forward to this evening at all…..and considering it’s the very first gig of 2009 that’s a bit worrying.
The trouble is, my ‘man flu’ actually turned out to be the real McCoy…’proper flu’ and too be honest I feel like a great steaming pile of horse manure. (don’t worry a life time developing the art of grooming assures that I don’t have the perfume of said pile).
The gig in question is one of those ‘showcase’ thingys, which basically means that we perform for free in a venue that ‘might’ just book the artiste on a fee paying basis. Along with about five other acoustic wannabies.
This of course is spurious to say the least; however the promoter for the evening has become a good friend to The Mudheads and has been turning many a good paying gig our way. So it would seem churlish to refuse.
On this occasion Aaron & I will be performing as an acoustic duo (under the moniker, ‘The Loaders’) as this prevents CJ being dragged away from his family on yet another occasion for a half hour slot wedged between a gaggle of ‘Folkies’.
The quality of the average ‘folkie’ has dramatically improved over the past few years, and they no longer tend to sing about fairies and the bleakness of existence.
However, they still remain sensitive souls and generally refuse to go on to any stage after we have been on it.
The Mudheads as well as the Loaders have often been described as ‘A bunch of ruddy lunatics with more energy than sense’, a title we have become fiercely proud of. However, this honour has not been bestowed lightly and the reputation has been earned by screaming our heads off, thrashing around the stage, breaking things and for generally embarrassing ourselves.
The fate of some ‘sensitive soul’ lamenting ‘The Streets of London’ after we have stormed off following our much requested ‘heavy metal medley on acoustic guitars’ is not something many are prepared to tolerate.
With this in mind we normally get shoved on at the end of the night.
It is for ‘the big finish’ we are told.
Normally what it does mean is that the lights are going out and last orders are being called and two thirds of the audience has bogged off as they have to get up for work in the morning.
I put on my most pathetic ‘sick note’ voice to the promoter this afternoon and he has vowed to stick us on first.
We shall see, we shall see.
Either way…..my head pounding and my throat feeling like I have been gargling with light bulbs and chilli peppers as well has having the Chinese elephant of good fortune encamped on my chest….I think I am going to try and remember the words to ‘The Streets of London’
“Have you seen the old girl, who walks the streets of London, carrying her home, in two carrier bags.”
The trouble is, my ‘man flu’ actually turned out to be the real McCoy…’proper flu’ and too be honest I feel like a great steaming pile of horse manure. (don’t worry a life time developing the art of grooming assures that I don’t have the perfume of said pile).
The gig in question is one of those ‘showcase’ thingys, which basically means that we perform for free in a venue that ‘might’ just book the artiste on a fee paying basis. Along with about five other acoustic wannabies.
This of course is spurious to say the least; however the promoter for the evening has become a good friend to The Mudheads and has been turning many a good paying gig our way. So it would seem churlish to refuse.
On this occasion Aaron & I will be performing as an acoustic duo (under the moniker, ‘The Loaders’) as this prevents CJ being dragged away from his family on yet another occasion for a half hour slot wedged between a gaggle of ‘Folkies’.
The quality of the average ‘folkie’ has dramatically improved over the past few years, and they no longer tend to sing about fairies and the bleakness of existence.
However, they still remain sensitive souls and generally refuse to go on to any stage after we have been on it.
The Mudheads as well as the Loaders have often been described as ‘A bunch of ruddy lunatics with more energy than sense’, a title we have become fiercely proud of. However, this honour has not been bestowed lightly and the reputation has been earned by screaming our heads off, thrashing around the stage, breaking things and for generally embarrassing ourselves.
The fate of some ‘sensitive soul’ lamenting ‘The Streets of London’ after we have stormed off following our much requested ‘heavy metal medley on acoustic guitars’ is not something many are prepared to tolerate.
With this in mind we normally get shoved on at the end of the night.
It is for ‘the big finish’ we are told.
Normally what it does mean is that the lights are going out and last orders are being called and two thirds of the audience has bogged off as they have to get up for work in the morning.
I put on my most pathetic ‘sick note’ voice to the promoter this afternoon and he has vowed to stick us on first.
We shall see, we shall see.
Either way…..my head pounding and my throat feeling like I have been gargling with light bulbs and chilli peppers as well has having the Chinese elephant of good fortune encamped on my chest….I think I am going to try and remember the words to ‘The Streets of London’
“Have you seen the old girl, who walks the streets of London, carrying her home, in two carrier bags.”
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