I am not sure this necessarily has anything to do with the music industry, but I suspect that it has. They also say that getting some of your annoyances out into paper can be quite cathartic.
I have often heard the phrase “Good guys come last”, which normally goes hand in hand with “Nice guys like you make great second husbands.
If you will forgive my Anglo Saxon reference Eddie Izzard did a complete skit on this theory based on his time at school. The nice guys that would hold a door open for a girl would generally receive nothing, not even a smile or a nod of appreciation. However; if they were a bit of a “Bastard……..shagging a plenty”.
I am beginning to think that this could be right. Not the last bit I hasten to add, happily married for 26 years, but the former. Mind you the amount of women I have heard commenting that their husband was “A bit of a lad when I met him, but that was what attracted me to him”, but then complaining bitterly that he remained “A bit of a lad”. You can generally here me grinding my teeth and muttering comments like “bed”, and “lying in it”.
As I work for the British National Health Service I have to suffer the indignity of appraisals. This normally results in a person sitting in a room with their line manager being told that they have either done, or not done a good job during the previous 12 months.
This was the case for me just a few weeks ago.
I received a right royal slap on the back and was informed that I had done a damn fine job and that the service could not function as efficiently without me. Not only that I was popular with my colleagues, service users and other professional alike.
Well done Loader, ego suitably stroked.
However, then came the rub. I am grade wise the bottom of the pile. Many of my clinician colleagues earn considerably more than I do. And many of the more, shall we say, aggressive ones, have recently been re-graded and are earning nearly four times what I am.
I was in an appraisal and so I thought it would be a good time to broker the subject and suggest that if I am doing such a sterling piece of work for the sake of child mental health, that it may be a good time for my boss to fight my cause and ensure that my paupers bowl be just a little fuller at the end of the month.
Now I have faced rejection before in many guises, but none were quite so direct and to the point “You won’t get any more money here, you’ll have to go and work somewhere else if you want that”.
Suddenly the words of my dear friend and comrade in arms Bassbin came flooding back.
“Just because you are indispensable does not mean that you are important”
Now does this relate to the life of the Rock God? I believe at times it does.
My band The Mudheads have a reputation as being “A nice bunch of guys” and for that I am grateful and just a little proud. We also have a reputation that if you are in shtuck or you are fighting for a good cause The Mudheads are the ones to go to.
We find ourselves constantly being asked to perform at benefit gigs or help out in different situations, and we are generally happy and honoured to do so.
However, I have begun to notice that the amount of benefit gigs we have been asked to ‘help out at’ has grown, whilst the number of really healthy ‘paying gigs’ is beginning to decrease.
I have also noticed that some of our colleagues in the industry, who perhaps would fit Eddie Izzards description of being a “bit of a Bastard”, are raking in the paid work.
Perhaps it is time to be a little less accommodating and a little more demanding.
However; I am what I am, and I will not change. Although, I am just hoping that when I stand before my maker he doesn’t announce “Sorry Paul, I don’t have that big a budget for heaven and the charismatic church** will give me hell if I don’t let all of them in so I am going to have to let you go, you don’t mind do you?”
** substitute what ever denomination of religion you like in there, being a nice guy I wouldn’t want to offend anybody
Wednesday, 25 November 2009
Wednesday, 18 November 2009
The Rock God ego can cause him to stumble
On those rare occasions when you have a night off a favourite thing to do is kick back, break open a bottle of wine and to watch a film on DVD. Now living in a house that is now weighted in favour of the women in my life (wife and daughter), this usually involves a lengthy debate around what everybody wants to watch.
In this particular instance the film of agreed choice was Tom Cruise’s 'Top Gun'. Eye candy for the ladies and testosterone fuelled jet aircraft for me.
Now I am one of those saddos that enjoy watching the DVD extras once everybody has slopped off to bed. In the Top Gun extras there was an interview with Terri Nunn the lead singer of Berlin who sang the Oscar winning theme, 'Take my breath away' for the film.
Terri Nunn talked about her shame of succumbing to her 23 year old ego when she turned down the opportunity to perform the song at the Oscars as they would not let them play the WHOLE song,
She talked about regretting it ever since, especially in light of her mother’s bitter disappointment that her daughter was not part of such a spectacular event.
This resonated with me as I can remember back into my youth doing something equally as arrogant and stupid.
I was 19 years old and playing in Amaziah. We were a professional band and were hoping to be part of the New Wave of British heavy metal.
We had been invited to perform at the 1980 Greenbelt Christian music and arts festival in Bedford. The festival was at the height of its powers then in that it attracted some 25,000 people from all walks of life and at this point in time this was place to play.
This was the year that bands like U2 had ripped up the main stage and the world’s music media turned its hungry eye towards it.
However, as I said, young, arrogant and stupid.
We were offered the ‘big top’.
We hit the roof. I mean, we were well on our way to being superstars, how dare they offer us a boy scout tent in a back field somewhere. We were indignant; it was the main stage or nothing.
However, as I said, this was the year of bands like U2, there simply was no room for a bunch of relatively unknown upstarts.
Our manager was sent to instruct them unceremoniously that they could bog right off.
However, as with all such tales of arrogance and stupidity there was a sting in the tail.
The ‘scout tent’ in fact was massive. It was capable of hosting many thousands of people and unbeknown to us we had been booked to perform as the headline on the Saturday night. We would have been the festivals main alternative attraction of the night.
We were featured as the centre page spread in the weekend’s program (it’s the only time I’ve been a centre fold I can tell you).
The band that took our place at the very last minute (yup, we pulled out at the 11th hour such was our ego busting arrogance) got a record deal out of the occasion and they informed us with glee that the lively appreciative audience has been standing room only and had been queuing outside the tent. They had all come to see us.
I think I can only leave the final word on the subject to the Western world’s foremost philosopher, Homer Simpson
“Doh!”
In this particular instance the film of agreed choice was Tom Cruise’s 'Top Gun'. Eye candy for the ladies and testosterone fuelled jet aircraft for me.
Now I am one of those saddos that enjoy watching the DVD extras once everybody has slopped off to bed. In the Top Gun extras there was an interview with Terri Nunn the lead singer of Berlin who sang the Oscar winning theme, 'Take my breath away' for the film.
Terri Nunn talked about her shame of succumbing to her 23 year old ego when she turned down the opportunity to perform the song at the Oscars as they would not let them play the WHOLE song,
She talked about regretting it ever since, especially in light of her mother’s bitter disappointment that her daughter was not part of such a spectacular event.
This resonated with me as I can remember back into my youth doing something equally as arrogant and stupid.
I was 19 years old and playing in Amaziah. We were a professional band and were hoping to be part of the New Wave of British heavy metal.
We had been invited to perform at the 1980 Greenbelt Christian music and arts festival in Bedford. The festival was at the height of its powers then in that it attracted some 25,000 people from all walks of life and at this point in time this was place to play.
This was the year that bands like U2 had ripped up the main stage and the world’s music media turned its hungry eye towards it.
However, as I said, young, arrogant and stupid.
We were offered the ‘big top’.
We hit the roof. I mean, we were well on our way to being superstars, how dare they offer us a boy scout tent in a back field somewhere. We were indignant; it was the main stage or nothing.
However, as I said, this was the year of bands like U2, there simply was no room for a bunch of relatively unknown upstarts.
Our manager was sent to instruct them unceremoniously that they could bog right off.
However, as with all such tales of arrogance and stupidity there was a sting in the tail.
The ‘scout tent’ in fact was massive. It was capable of hosting many thousands of people and unbeknown to us we had been booked to perform as the headline on the Saturday night. We would have been the festivals main alternative attraction of the night.
We were featured as the centre page spread in the weekend’s program (it’s the only time I’ve been a centre fold I can tell you).
The band that took our place at the very last minute (yup, we pulled out at the 11th hour such was our ego busting arrogance) got a record deal out of the occasion and they informed us with glee that the lively appreciative audience has been standing room only and had been queuing outside the tent. They had all come to see us.
I think I can only leave the final word on the subject to the Western world’s foremost philosopher, Homer Simpson
“Doh!”
Monday, 9 November 2009
Dreams can come true
On a recent visit to Lundinium with Bassbin to visit our old and dear friend Quicksketch I had my backside soundly roasted by the pair of them for the lack of blog entries.
I naturally protested my innocence and claimed that it had been merely but few weeks. On closer inspection it was determined that it had been in fact two months come Wednesday. Suitably chastised I sought to make my excuses.
I have mentioned before that I am getting very much in the groove and that each gig is getting, perhaps dare I say it, mundane. I have been feeling that there hasn’t been a whole lot that would be worthy of interest on this particular column.
Then Quicksketch wisely pointed out that the very fact that I have got to a point in my musical journey that is mundane is worthy of celebration, and he should know.
You see, both and Bassbin were there at the very beginning.
We were all about fourteen years old and dreamt of performing in front of an audience, any audience. We would practice till our ears burnt and our fingers dropped off in Quicksketch’s mother’s front room. Her sofa doubling up as a drum kit and what we lacked in talent and ability (which was vast) we made up for in enthusiasm and pure and simple day dreaming.
Three of four years later Bassbin and I would trawl the city of Bristol on our motorbikes seeking out live music that acted as a sound track and inspiration for our lives.
We would sit back and let the music wash over us dreaming that one day…that would be us up on that stage.
It has been a long old journey and that is indeed now us, well me anyway. Bassbin retains his passion for live music but freely admits that his priorities have changed. Although, one day when I have time and I can get into the editing facilities in the school where I work, there is video footage of both the boy and I playing on a large festival stage somewhere on the south coast. It would make a worthy edition to Youtube.
However, Quicksketch’s sage words echoed in my ears as I rocked my socks off in a tiny Bristol pub with my old friend Matt yesterday as part of an acoustic afternoon.
Yes the venue was tiny. No, money did not chance hands and we weren’t likely to sign THAT record deal shortly following this particular gig. And yet, 30 odd years ago I used to dream of gigs like this. I would lie in bed at night and rehearse the entire set in my head, and long for the days when it might, and I mean MIGHT come true.
And there I was doing it.
It was a new and refreshing appreciation and I worked up a sweat.
All I can say to Quicksketch and Bassbin, thanks guys for a HUGE dollop of inspiration and I promise I will be more consistent in my contributions from now on.
I naturally protested my innocence and claimed that it had been merely but few weeks. On closer inspection it was determined that it had been in fact two months come Wednesday. Suitably chastised I sought to make my excuses.
I have mentioned before that I am getting very much in the groove and that each gig is getting, perhaps dare I say it, mundane. I have been feeling that there hasn’t been a whole lot that would be worthy of interest on this particular column.
Then Quicksketch wisely pointed out that the very fact that I have got to a point in my musical journey that is mundane is worthy of celebration, and he should know.
You see, both and Bassbin were there at the very beginning.
We were all about fourteen years old and dreamt of performing in front of an audience, any audience. We would practice till our ears burnt and our fingers dropped off in Quicksketch’s mother’s front room. Her sofa doubling up as a drum kit and what we lacked in talent and ability (which was vast) we made up for in enthusiasm and pure and simple day dreaming.
Three of four years later Bassbin and I would trawl the city of Bristol on our motorbikes seeking out live music that acted as a sound track and inspiration for our lives.
We would sit back and let the music wash over us dreaming that one day…that would be us up on that stage.
It has been a long old journey and that is indeed now us, well me anyway. Bassbin retains his passion for live music but freely admits that his priorities have changed. Although, one day when I have time and I can get into the editing facilities in the school where I work, there is video footage of both the boy and I playing on a large festival stage somewhere on the south coast. It would make a worthy edition to Youtube.
However, Quicksketch’s sage words echoed in my ears as I rocked my socks off in a tiny Bristol pub with my old friend Matt yesterday as part of an acoustic afternoon.
Yes the venue was tiny. No, money did not chance hands and we weren’t likely to sign THAT record deal shortly following this particular gig. And yet, 30 odd years ago I used to dream of gigs like this. I would lie in bed at night and rehearse the entire set in my head, and long for the days when it might, and I mean MIGHT come true.
And there I was doing it.
It was a new and refreshing appreciation and I worked up a sweat.
All I can say to Quicksketch and Bassbin, thanks guys for a HUGE dollop of inspiration and I promise I will be more consistent in my contributions from now on.
Friday, 11 September 2009
"The Worlds Loudest Skiffle Group"
My apologies for the lack of penned material of late. I haven’t given up it is just that we have kind of got into a groove with our performing and as such nothing of remarkable interest has happened that would ensure inclusion in this hallowed blog.
That being said, I was head hunted by another band. In fact not just any band, it was a group of some of the most accomplished musicians in Bristol. Now believe me, that is good for the old ego.
They didn’t intend to take me permanently away from my beloved Mudheads. They just wanted to ‘borrow’ me from time to time.
It all sounded rather good until I enquired as to what time commitment being ‘borrowed’ actually meant. It would have in reality resulted in a gig a month and with a rehearsal every other week.
Now anybody who knows me will lament that I will moan, at length about the lack of hours in the day. Aaron has completely banned me from uttering the statement “I didn’t have the time”.
So it would have been sheer stupidity to take on another commitment, no matter how tempting. So I had to sadly and somewhat reluctantly decline the offer. I hope that the other two Mudheads appreciate the sacrifice I have made for them.
On a different note, having had my ego suitably crushed by the lack of numbers at our last ‘serious’ gig I have gone and put my head well and truly in the lions mouth again.
One of my favourite bands of the last couple of decades was ‘The Gutter Brothers’. Described by Bruce Dickinson from Iron Maiden as “The loudest skiffle group in history”, the GB’s started life successfully busking in Covent Garden.
When I say successfully, they could clear up to £1,000 on a Saturday performing to the tourists in the London market. Now that is not small change.
They later moved from pure skiffle to a more rock based sound, and replaced their Tea chest bass with an electric bass.
They were signed to Elvis Costello’s Demon Records where they went on to record the sound track to ‘Gone to the Dogs’ with Harry Enfield, Warren Clarke, Alison Steadman and the now internationally famous Jim Broadbent.
They also recorded the sound track and theme song for the ‘Only Fools & Horses’ Christmas Special ‘Miami Twice’
They toured with the likes of Blondie and Dr Feelgood among many others and they general wrote and produced catchy and exciting songs.
I first got to know them through their Bass player Steve Turner and their producer Jez Coad (who was my best man when I got married).
Any way they had a real influence on me and I was inspired by (stole) many of their songs whilst I was writing for Mudheads Monkey.
I was gutted when they closed that chapter on their lives back in 1998.
However, they are back and we are playing with them….how cool is that!
So of course, the Rock God goes and opens his mouth when he hears that they are on a short tour and states…”If you come to Bristol and we support you, I will promote the gig”.
And that is what is happening…and talk about hard work.
I have written to every radio and TV station in the southwest. Magazines, newspapers and websites. You name it I have stuck a flyer on it and I will continue to do so right up until the date itself.
However, if this gig bombs…then my guitar goes off of the Clifton Suspension Bridge.
We shall se what we shall see.
Please be there!!!! I love my guitar and I don’t want to see if falling away from Brunel’s finest piece of work.
That being said, I was head hunted by another band. In fact not just any band, it was a group of some of the most accomplished musicians in Bristol. Now believe me, that is good for the old ego.
They didn’t intend to take me permanently away from my beloved Mudheads. They just wanted to ‘borrow’ me from time to time.
It all sounded rather good until I enquired as to what time commitment being ‘borrowed’ actually meant. It would have in reality resulted in a gig a month and with a rehearsal every other week.
Now anybody who knows me will lament that I will moan, at length about the lack of hours in the day. Aaron has completely banned me from uttering the statement “I didn’t have the time”.
So it would have been sheer stupidity to take on another commitment, no matter how tempting. So I had to sadly and somewhat reluctantly decline the offer. I hope that the other two Mudheads appreciate the sacrifice I have made for them.
On a different note, having had my ego suitably crushed by the lack of numbers at our last ‘serious’ gig I have gone and put my head well and truly in the lions mouth again.
One of my favourite bands of the last couple of decades was ‘The Gutter Brothers’. Described by Bruce Dickinson from Iron Maiden as “The loudest skiffle group in history”, the GB’s started life successfully busking in Covent Garden.
When I say successfully, they could clear up to £1,000 on a Saturday performing to the tourists in the London market. Now that is not small change.
They later moved from pure skiffle to a more rock based sound, and replaced their Tea chest bass with an electric bass.
They were signed to Elvis Costello’s Demon Records where they went on to record the sound track to ‘Gone to the Dogs’ with Harry Enfield, Warren Clarke, Alison Steadman and the now internationally famous Jim Broadbent.
They also recorded the sound track and theme song for the ‘Only Fools & Horses’ Christmas Special ‘Miami Twice’
They toured with the likes of Blondie and Dr Feelgood among many others and they general wrote and produced catchy and exciting songs.
I first got to know them through their Bass player Steve Turner and their producer Jez Coad (who was my best man when I got married).
Any way they had a real influence on me and I was inspired by (stole) many of their songs whilst I was writing for Mudheads Monkey.
I was gutted when they closed that chapter on their lives back in 1998.
However, they are back and we are playing with them….how cool is that!
So of course, the Rock God goes and opens his mouth when he hears that they are on a short tour and states…”If you come to Bristol and we support you, I will promote the gig”.
And that is what is happening…and talk about hard work.
I have written to every radio and TV station in the southwest. Magazines, newspapers and websites. You name it I have stuck a flyer on it and I will continue to do so right up until the date itself.
However, if this gig bombs…then my guitar goes off of the Clifton Suspension Bridge.
We shall se what we shall see.
Please be there!!!! I love my guitar and I don’t want to see if falling away from Brunel’s finest piece of work.
Friday, 14 August 2009
"To be or not to be"
To be, or not to be? Whether it be nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortunes…….or just knock it on the head and go and learn to play golf instead.
There has to be fewer and sadder sights than to see the disappointed look on a publicans face when the much hyped band has promised so much, and yet delivered so little. Sadder still, the final debate over the agreed fee, the honoring of which would have resulted in a significant loss for the landlord on that evening.
Why the mentioning of such sad states of affairs??? We went and had another monumental flop that’s why.
The Mudheads had been booked to play in a Bristol venue that has been growing in status and respect and we wanted to play there. It has a proper stage, PA, lights and even a changing room (granted a cleverly placed curtain drapes over the urinals and even as a three piece we were tripping over each other, but at least this toilet had a carpet and a television)
Perhaps common sense rather foolishly took a back seat when you consider that the gig was in the middle of Factory Fortnight and on the same weekend as the Bristol Harbor festival.
However, undeterred we accepted the offer of a whole night to ourselves without a support act and set about promoting the dickens out of said event.
My promoting I mean e-mailing everybody we have ever met. Saturation in media coverage from magazines, newspapers, the radio and even television stations. Then adding the event to every music website in existence, even those in other countries.
After that we went back to e-mailing friends and not withstanding crimes of blackmail, extortion and downright threats of violence for non-attendance.
There probably wasn’t a person in the western hemisphere that was not aware of the gig.
Of course days before the gig the excuses would be forwarded to us. Family members that claimed to be in Africa, mothers dying, that sort of thing. Even one honest statement…”Nah, I can’t be bothered”…..sharp but truthful none the less, at least we knew where we stood.
Even so, we were confident of a crowd big enough to impress the venue and guarantee a return visit.
The music scene is oiled, well oiled on optimism. It has to be, why else would any one of us put ourselves through the constant embarrassment of a ‘lousy turnout’ night after night.
Yes, you’ve guessed it. The turn out although enthusiastic and supportive was by any scale ‘tiny’. In a venue that could accommodate 150 people, swigging beer and sipping wine. I think we made about 30.
That was after selling our souls to the Gods of rock & roll…..30 people, and a good 10 of those were regular drinkers in the venue and would have been there who ever was playing.
As I have already mentioned, the conversation with the Landlord at the end of the evening was to say the least embarrassing, He loved what we did; he thought we were a great band; but that did not deflect from the fact that by booking us he had lost money.
Can you see now why so many pubs and clubs are ditching live music altogether and putting in giant video screens to watch the footy.
My only solace was in fellow musicians that had suffered the same indignity over that weekend.
Friends from Vienna in Austria had flown to London (at their own expense) to perform two gigs.
The first night they played to three people. The second night, flanked by a band from Australia and a band from Japan, they got six.
Do you start to think, that as a country we deserve the likes of X-Factor and Pop Idol because that is what we are going to be left with when there are no venues left to play in and no artistes left to perform any how.
Right…….it’s tee not tea! When they say club I don’t have to hit people with it (no matter how tempting it may be), and a handicap refers to my standing next to the professional and not to the fact that I am retarded in any way.
DUCK!! sorry….. FOUR!!....
There has to be fewer and sadder sights than to see the disappointed look on a publicans face when the much hyped band has promised so much, and yet delivered so little. Sadder still, the final debate over the agreed fee, the honoring of which would have resulted in a significant loss for the landlord on that evening.
Why the mentioning of such sad states of affairs??? We went and had another monumental flop that’s why.
The Mudheads had been booked to play in a Bristol venue that has been growing in status and respect and we wanted to play there. It has a proper stage, PA, lights and even a changing room (granted a cleverly placed curtain drapes over the urinals and even as a three piece we were tripping over each other, but at least this toilet had a carpet and a television)
Perhaps common sense rather foolishly took a back seat when you consider that the gig was in the middle of Factory Fortnight and on the same weekend as the Bristol Harbor festival.
However, undeterred we accepted the offer of a whole night to ourselves without a support act and set about promoting the dickens out of said event.
My promoting I mean e-mailing everybody we have ever met. Saturation in media coverage from magazines, newspapers, the radio and even television stations. Then adding the event to every music website in existence, even those in other countries.
After that we went back to e-mailing friends and not withstanding crimes of blackmail, extortion and downright threats of violence for non-attendance.
There probably wasn’t a person in the western hemisphere that was not aware of the gig.
Of course days before the gig the excuses would be forwarded to us. Family members that claimed to be in Africa, mothers dying, that sort of thing. Even one honest statement…”Nah, I can’t be bothered”…..sharp but truthful none the less, at least we knew where we stood.
Even so, we were confident of a crowd big enough to impress the venue and guarantee a return visit.
The music scene is oiled, well oiled on optimism. It has to be, why else would any one of us put ourselves through the constant embarrassment of a ‘lousy turnout’ night after night.
Yes, you’ve guessed it. The turn out although enthusiastic and supportive was by any scale ‘tiny’. In a venue that could accommodate 150 people, swigging beer and sipping wine. I think we made about 30.
That was after selling our souls to the Gods of rock & roll…..30 people, and a good 10 of those were regular drinkers in the venue and would have been there who ever was playing.
As I have already mentioned, the conversation with the Landlord at the end of the evening was to say the least embarrassing, He loved what we did; he thought we were a great band; but that did not deflect from the fact that by booking us he had lost money.
Can you see now why so many pubs and clubs are ditching live music altogether and putting in giant video screens to watch the footy.
My only solace was in fellow musicians that had suffered the same indignity over that weekend.
Friends from Vienna in Austria had flown to London (at their own expense) to perform two gigs.
The first night they played to three people. The second night, flanked by a band from Australia and a band from Japan, they got six.
Do you start to think, that as a country we deserve the likes of X-Factor and Pop Idol because that is what we are going to be left with when there are no venues left to play in and no artistes left to perform any how.
Right…….it’s tee not tea! When they say club I don’t have to hit people with it (no matter how tempting it may be), and a handicap refers to my standing next to the professional and not to the fact that I am retarded in any way.
DUCK!! sorry….. FOUR!!....
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
"He could sell sand to the Eygptians"
I have got myself back into the world of promotion, and I have to confess I am enjoying it.
With a lot of the venues we as a band are playing in these days we are there strictly to entertain the punters already provided. This Saturday we are performing at a well respected venue where the responsibility is down to us to get people there......and unfortunately we are going head to head with the Bristol Harbor Festival. I'm praying for rain. Not very charitable I know but I have a band to promote don't you know.
Of course with gigs like this it becomes a bit like trying to sell life assurance. Your first targets are friends and family. They have of course become wise to my persuasive ways and have already begun to make excuses. "I'm in South Africa Uncle Paul". I tell you, the lack of loyalty in my family is outstanding.
As the days pass the excuses for non attendance become almost biblical in their imagination "I would love to be there but I have just bought a field and I have to inspect it".
"I have just purchased a team of Oxen and I must go and plough my field"
"My father is about to be married and I must attend the wedding".
I of course have already gone out into the highways and byways to invite people in the stead of my disloyal following. The only recourse left open to me is equally as biblical in that they all be cast from the light into the darkness where there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth. Naturally if you have no teeth, as charitable as I can be...teeth will be provided.
Obviously my loyal blog readers will want to rush to see this blessed author take to the stage in solidarity with the man himself.
So, with that in mind...if you are anywhere near Bristol, England on;
Saturday 1st August 09
then get yourselves along to The Thunderbolt in Totterdown by about 9:30pm.
I promise you, it will be worth it.
Right, promotion over.....now......are you adequately covered in terms of your life assurance??
With a lot of the venues we as a band are playing in these days we are there strictly to entertain the punters already provided. This Saturday we are performing at a well respected venue where the responsibility is down to us to get people there......and unfortunately we are going head to head with the Bristol Harbor Festival. I'm praying for rain. Not very charitable I know but I have a band to promote don't you know.
Of course with gigs like this it becomes a bit like trying to sell life assurance. Your first targets are friends and family. They have of course become wise to my persuasive ways and have already begun to make excuses. "I'm in South Africa Uncle Paul". I tell you, the lack of loyalty in my family is outstanding.
As the days pass the excuses for non attendance become almost biblical in their imagination "I would love to be there but I have just bought a field and I have to inspect it".
"I have just purchased a team of Oxen and I must go and plough my field"
"My father is about to be married and I must attend the wedding".
I of course have already gone out into the highways and byways to invite people in the stead of my disloyal following. The only recourse left open to me is equally as biblical in that they all be cast from the light into the darkness where there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth. Naturally if you have no teeth, as charitable as I can be...teeth will be provided.
Obviously my loyal blog readers will want to rush to see this blessed author take to the stage in solidarity with the man himself.
So, with that in mind...if you are anywhere near Bristol, England on;
Saturday 1st August 09
then get yourselves along to The Thunderbolt in Totterdown by about 9:30pm.
I promise you, it will be worth it.
Right, promotion over.....now......are you adequately covered in terms of your life assurance??
Tuesday, 7 July 2009
The Rock God must occasionally audition
Something that I have never understood is people’s earnest desire to go on TV shows like the ‘X-Factor’ and by way of an audition make complete and utter pratts of themselves in front of cynical and critical panellists such as Simon Cowell and Dannii Minogue, as well as millions of television viewers.
I appreciate that ‘public humiliation’ has been part of our culture since we pelted offenders with rotten fruit whilst they languished in the stocks. On a more vicious level the more well to do used to while away an amusing hour or two and pay and laugh at the ‘lunatics’ in mental asylums.
Even though we now firmly believe that as a society we are above such things we in fact take the same bewildered individuals and put the them on national television to have their earnest delusions ‘howled’ in mirth at by countless armchair voyeurs.
Don’t believe me, then answer me this. Why does the opening stages of shows like the aforementioned ‘X-Factor’, ‘Pop Idol’ and ‘Britain’s got talent’ always have the highest viewing figures.
Shows crammed with the deluded and sometimes even the down right scary, making utter fools of themselves in the absolute belief (because one of the producers before the show has already told them that they have every right to have that belief) that they are indeed ‘Mariah Carey incarnate.
Oh what joy is had when they actually sound more like Homer Simpson with a head cold. It’s even better when they stand there and hotly debate with a bored looking Simon Cowell the error of his decision and that he ‘Doesn’t know what he is talking about’.
As I mentioned, I have it on very good authority by somebody who ran one of the mass auditions for the ‘X-Factor’ that many auditonees are set up to fail in a spectacular and humiliating way….for our entertainment.
If we are going down that route, we should have taken Susan Boyle, go all Roman and lobbed a lion onto the stage with her…that would have given her something to sing about…bless her!
So why am I so against this kind of entertainment? Well, it could be that it reminds me of the few times that I had to audition for things and these are memories that I would prefer to forget.
My very first audition was for one of the roles in the school production of ‘West Side Story’. The good news was that I had probably had the best singing voice in the potential cast. The blow that reduced a 16 year old boy, who had virtually no self esteem to rubble was that the producer felt that I was not a good looking boy and certainly not good looking enough to play the lead role of ‘Tony’.
My first lesson in show business was ‘its all about the look’ and not necessarily the talent.
I had my own moments of quiet satisfaction when my very good friend, also one who was unnaturally popular with the girls, got given the lead role and missed the high notes by miles nearly every performance.
You could hear the producers butt cheeks clenching from the back of the theatre, nearly every night. “Shouldn’t have been so shallow then should you pal”. Revenge was a dish best served VERY cold.
My next audition was for my first serious band.
I had created an illusion to get me to the audition in the first place; I had given the impression that I was a virtuoso on the bass guitar. The fact that I knew what one looked like was in reality the only thing I could honestly claim.
So when I arrived with my borrowed kit to a garage in Westbury on Trym, Bristol, I was flying by the seat of my pants.
Unfortunately, the odds were stacked firmly against me. Not only in terms of my inability to actually play the instrument that I was auditioning for but in the fact that the keyboard player had already heard my name before.
Well, not my name exactly, my father’s.
My father was well known and much respected ‘Evangelist’ that is a preacher of the Christian message in case you were wondering. Dave had this vision of Loader junior arriving with greased down hair, a tank, sensible trousers, sandals and socks.
He was so adamant that this ‘oik’ wasn’t going anywhere near his beloved band, that he would quit should I even be considered to join.
I of course turned up with long blond hair, and ripped jeans and jean jacket.
As far as Dave was concerned….I was in…it didn’t matter how well I could play (just as well really, I don’t think I would have ever passed a ‘fair’ audition….I found out later that the younger members of the band were after my singing talents anyway).
Strangely enough, the outcome was exactly the same as my West Side Story experience, only in reverse. I got the gig because of what I looked like and NOT because of any talent. That was the first, and believe, me the LAST time that EVER happened. I’m afraid the ugly stick was used viscously and often when I was being carried in my mothers womb.
I had two more auditions later on from that. One was for local rock Gods ‘Stormtrooper’.
That was embarrassing as they tried to audition me with songs by ‘Rush’. I knew one line from ‘Bastille Day’ and that was it. I kept on singing it over and over again…what a dork.
I was packed off with a cassette and a pile of lyrics with the instructions to learn the songs for another audition. This I did.
My rejection phone call stated that I wasn’t quite what they were looking for; although the bass guitarist’s girlfriend thought I had good ‘diction’.
That was a wonderfully sugar coated way of saying “you were crap, but we heard every word’.
My final audition was for a band that appeared to not have a clue as to what they were going to do. They wanted to put a band together to wander over to Europe and tour around military bases.
I had a crack at the old rhythm guitar for that, but I wasn’t very good. I could tell that as they wanted to hear what I sang like and when an acompanying friend of mine who plays extremely good guitar played for me whilst I sang, they then asked him to audition. I think it was probably a good indication that I had not made a particularly good impression.
My only satisfaction was when Kev was asked he tersely replied “I don’t think so”.
I was generally very embarrassed though.
So the thought of putting myself through that experience on national television and have Mr waist band himself tear my dignity apart does not fill be with enthusiasm.
This could be why I am not famous….or more likely it’s because as I have been told many times…”You have a face for radio my boy”.
I appreciate that ‘public humiliation’ has been part of our culture since we pelted offenders with rotten fruit whilst they languished in the stocks. On a more vicious level the more well to do used to while away an amusing hour or two and pay and laugh at the ‘lunatics’ in mental asylums.
Even though we now firmly believe that as a society we are above such things we in fact take the same bewildered individuals and put the them on national television to have their earnest delusions ‘howled’ in mirth at by countless armchair voyeurs.
Don’t believe me, then answer me this. Why does the opening stages of shows like the aforementioned ‘X-Factor’, ‘Pop Idol’ and ‘Britain’s got talent’ always have the highest viewing figures.
Shows crammed with the deluded and sometimes even the down right scary, making utter fools of themselves in the absolute belief (because one of the producers before the show has already told them that they have every right to have that belief) that they are indeed ‘Mariah Carey incarnate.
Oh what joy is had when they actually sound more like Homer Simpson with a head cold. It’s even better when they stand there and hotly debate with a bored looking Simon Cowell the error of his decision and that he ‘Doesn’t know what he is talking about’.
As I mentioned, I have it on very good authority by somebody who ran one of the mass auditions for the ‘X-Factor’ that many auditonees are set up to fail in a spectacular and humiliating way….for our entertainment.
If we are going down that route, we should have taken Susan Boyle, go all Roman and lobbed a lion onto the stage with her…that would have given her something to sing about…bless her!
So why am I so against this kind of entertainment? Well, it could be that it reminds me of the few times that I had to audition for things and these are memories that I would prefer to forget.
My very first audition was for one of the roles in the school production of ‘West Side Story’. The good news was that I had probably had the best singing voice in the potential cast. The blow that reduced a 16 year old boy, who had virtually no self esteem to rubble was that the producer felt that I was not a good looking boy and certainly not good looking enough to play the lead role of ‘Tony’.
My first lesson in show business was ‘its all about the look’ and not necessarily the talent.
I had my own moments of quiet satisfaction when my very good friend, also one who was unnaturally popular with the girls, got given the lead role and missed the high notes by miles nearly every performance.
You could hear the producers butt cheeks clenching from the back of the theatre, nearly every night. “Shouldn’t have been so shallow then should you pal”. Revenge was a dish best served VERY cold.
My next audition was for my first serious band.
I had created an illusion to get me to the audition in the first place; I had given the impression that I was a virtuoso on the bass guitar. The fact that I knew what one looked like was in reality the only thing I could honestly claim.
So when I arrived with my borrowed kit to a garage in Westbury on Trym, Bristol, I was flying by the seat of my pants.
Unfortunately, the odds were stacked firmly against me. Not only in terms of my inability to actually play the instrument that I was auditioning for but in the fact that the keyboard player had already heard my name before.
Well, not my name exactly, my father’s.
My father was well known and much respected ‘Evangelist’ that is a preacher of the Christian message in case you were wondering. Dave had this vision of Loader junior arriving with greased down hair, a tank, sensible trousers, sandals and socks.
He was so adamant that this ‘oik’ wasn’t going anywhere near his beloved band, that he would quit should I even be considered to join.
I of course turned up with long blond hair, and ripped jeans and jean jacket.
As far as Dave was concerned….I was in…it didn’t matter how well I could play (just as well really, I don’t think I would have ever passed a ‘fair’ audition….I found out later that the younger members of the band were after my singing talents anyway).
Strangely enough, the outcome was exactly the same as my West Side Story experience, only in reverse. I got the gig because of what I looked like and NOT because of any talent. That was the first, and believe, me the LAST time that EVER happened. I’m afraid the ugly stick was used viscously and often when I was being carried in my mothers womb.
I had two more auditions later on from that. One was for local rock Gods ‘Stormtrooper’.
That was embarrassing as they tried to audition me with songs by ‘Rush’. I knew one line from ‘Bastille Day’ and that was it. I kept on singing it over and over again…what a dork.
I was packed off with a cassette and a pile of lyrics with the instructions to learn the songs for another audition. This I did.
My rejection phone call stated that I wasn’t quite what they were looking for; although the bass guitarist’s girlfriend thought I had good ‘diction’.
That was a wonderfully sugar coated way of saying “you were crap, but we heard every word’.
My final audition was for a band that appeared to not have a clue as to what they were going to do. They wanted to put a band together to wander over to Europe and tour around military bases.
I had a crack at the old rhythm guitar for that, but I wasn’t very good. I could tell that as they wanted to hear what I sang like and when an acompanying friend of mine who plays extremely good guitar played for me whilst I sang, they then asked him to audition. I think it was probably a good indication that I had not made a particularly good impression.
My only satisfaction was when Kev was asked he tersely replied “I don’t think so”.
I was generally very embarrassed though.
So the thought of putting myself through that experience on national television and have Mr waist band himself tear my dignity apart does not fill be with enthusiasm.
This could be why I am not famous….or more likely it’s because as I have been told many times…”You have a face for radio my boy”.
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