Good evening readers, I hope you're settling down with a cup of tea - perhaps a cushion for your bottom? - you may be in for a long'un.
As I write this, my dinner is cooking in the oven, quite late really, except I have been writing a song. I don't know if I've ever described this to you or not (most likely I have), but I have a sense when something wants to be written. Imagine walking home & seeing a few dark clouds on the horizon & thinking a storm's on the way. Then there's that feeling when the air feels like it's swelling up with potential rain. Then it pisses down. That's almost what my head does when a song's due. At which point my lyric book needs to be in a nearby pocket (preferably my own), because something will appear - it may be a drum part, it may be a melody, it may be the entire first line of the song, but whatever it is becomes the spine around which I build the song.
I would also recommend not going to a supermarket when a larval-stage song is rolling around your noggin, because it can be so easy to let the instore music squeeze down your aural canal & strangle whatever it is that's gestating. I was in a supermarket earlier on today, and I can assure you it's the "classics" which are the worst. The opening bars to Sweet Home Alabama burst out of the speakers and I promise I was mere kilojoules of energy short of jamming both hand down my ears.
I've had the feeling this song would come for days, and the time it picked to ping into existence was on a busy day when I'd never have chance to write it down properly. Cheers Brain, yer a pal.
I am happy with this song, as happy as I've been with anything, because everything seems to have the right sound (at least internally) as I'm writing it. I hope I can share these songs with you sooner rather than later, the need to get crackin' rains down on me daily.
[oven buzzer has gone, talk amongst yourselves for a bit]
Hello again, I'm back! [wipes pie gravy from chin] What I could really do with now is a tub of yoghurt (preferably Greek honey), and it's moments like this I remember being in supermarkets and failing to buy such produce. I've actually taken my own advice and brewed a nice, big, hot cup of tea before I get stuck into the events of the last few days, because, as readers of an earlier blog will remember, I had been getting ready to do quite a lot. Namely (in chronological order): Play a song with my friend's band; partake of a busking competition; perform a set at a charity event at de.bees in Cheshire. Before I go onto that though, I would like to impart unto you the ideal conditions for a proper cup of tea (bearing in mind I don't like my tea too strong).
First: get a big mug - I can't emphasise enough the fact that a small mug of tea is just not satisfying. It's nice, but it's like someone cooking up a massive batch of hot dog sausages & just handing you the end of the smallest one. Knickers to that - get a bucket if you have to, just so long as it's more than a pig's mouthful*
Second: Pour some milk into the mug first. This may seem odd to some of you (it seemed odd to me when I used to watch my parents make a cuppa, but Christ, it makes sense!). I'm not sure how much milk is best, as I'm lousy with measurements, so go for more than might fit in, say, a snake's head.
Third: Pour in hot water (perhaps this should be the fourth point, and point one should be "boil the kettle", but for one thing that seemed bleedin' obvious and for another, it's too late now so if you're complaining, stop it and carry on reading), and pour it as close as you feel comfortable to the brim of the mug,
Fourth: If, like me, you hate washing teaspoons (and if you don't have sugar in your tea), get a teabag, give it a good shake to get all those loose granules off the surface, and then dunk the tea bag in as you might a biscuit (shit, I haven't got any biscuits - there's a way to remind myself, eh?), several times. For me this is infinitely preferable to squeezing the life out of it with a teaspoon against the inside of the mug.
If you follow these tips, you will have a lovely, flavoursome cup of tea, which you can savour over a few episodes of Look Around You, or one episode of Quantum Leap. See? You don't just get dull reportage, you get lifestyle tips as well.
Right: the weekend! (Still with me? Good!) Friday night was the night Our Mutual Friend played a support gig for The Control at The Full Moon in Newcastle-under-Lyme. They had been very kind and learned to play my song, "Dirty Badger". They did very well too, which made it all the more embarrassing when I flubbed my guitar solo in the soundcheck. The soundcheck was an interesting affair anyway, when I unfurled my amp & pedals, and only had one feasible power outlet to which both would not stretch, assuming I kept my pedals where I could see them (which, as any guitar pedal conoisseur will you, is the best way to keep them). In the end I gave up and put my pedals on top of my amp, because there was no lead that would reach them otherwise. This meant that during the guitar solo, I had to operate my wah pedal facing away from the audience, and with my leg at a right-angle to my torso. I am told it looked "awesome", so I may bear this in mind for the next electric gig I have. Although "I've Still Got Your Blood On My Curtains" could end up resembling a backwards a-rhythmic Riverdance if I adopt that approach again... In any case, Our Mutual Friend were brilliant, and I can't wait to see their show at The Artrix Theatre, where I'll also be opening the night for them. They're great, musically & lyrically, go and Google them!
Actually, finish read this first. Then Google them. Cheers.
Saturday was the busking competition as part of Stone Music Festival. I have never busked before, and that was the main reason behind me doing this. It was a lot of fun, with some of the interactions between me & passers-by being faintly amusing. I was a little disconcerted to see no awnings, umbrellas or coverings of any kind when I was directed to my busking spot, and my fears were further justified when five or so minutes into my hour, the heavens opened & rained heavily on me & my guitar for about two minutes.** As the rain died down, I elected to play Crowded House's perennial hit "Weather With You", at which a chirpy man in a flat cap, strolled by & called "Good choice!" wile pointing comedically at the sky. Had he heard me play "Four Seasons In One Day" after the second minature deluge, doubtless he would have said the same.
Over the course of the hour I played a mix of my own songs & songs people might recognise, and at one point a man in a luminous yellow jacket stood in front of me, listening intently. I panicked, assuming him to be a judge, and misguidedly launched myself into a cover of No One Knows by Queens Of The Stone Age, at which I went to pieces. He put a pound coin in my guitar case, turned around, and could not help but notice the word "STEWARD" emblazoned on his back. I will not lie, readers, I was relieved. But at the same time I wanted to kick him.
My hour finished, and I had enough money in my guitar case to make back the money spent getting there on the bus. I was happy with this as a result, and am glad to say I enjoyed the busking. The guys who won the competition, Joey Preece & Dave Dove, are a fine pair of musicians, and make a good duo. They form two-fifths of Bearfoot, who host the open mic at The Rigger, and as anyone who has seen themm will testify, they're bloody good.
I had yet to eat at this point, so made my way home for a pub dinner and a marvellous text-message conversation with a lovely new friend of mine about social awkwardness (she once inadvertently whistled "Dude Looks Like A Lady" in front of two transvestites - I love her for this). From there I got a bunch of flyers photocopied, whilst listening to Gemma Hayes' new album 'Let It Break', which is a brilliant album, although I suspect my mp3 player may have played the tracks in the wrong order. I will need to sit at home & listen to it, as is my usual custom.
Sunday. Lovely, lovely Sunday. I travelled to de.bees in Winsford for a charity event in support of Christie's, and I travelled down with MEME and the people related therein, and it was a really pleasant journey & wonderful afternoon. Although I should mention that I can't seem to travel to a new town without ending up on a ramble for at least half an hour.
Sheffield is the worst. I have been to Sheffield city centre on three occasions (I know there will be a fourth, and that it will not differ), and on each one I have walked around its cruel maze for at leat two hours, shirt sticking to my sweaty torso in fatigue & tears of desperation clogging my eyeholes. The last time this happened (when I went to see Gemma Hayes at the Leadmill, coincidentally), I gave up the search & flagged a taxi, who drove me round a corner & charged me £4. Bastard.
The decisive point came when I said to my friends, "I'm going to try & find a cashpoint." Directions were given, and I set out in entirely the wrong way. My friends & I had been misdirected, it seemed. The first two routes I took lead me to increasingly desolate stretches of derelict suburbia, and it became increasingly obvious that, on a Sunday, Winsford is, by and large, shut. I was also becoming concerned that my choices were becoming: "Either this town has a cashpoint, or the people of Winsford print their own money!" although I should point out that this conclusion was more to do with my geographical ineptitude rather than, say, a complete absence of amenities.
I arrived back at the bar a tidy forty minutes later, and immediately bought some beer. A running order had been left for our perusal which said MEME were on at 7pm. My name was at the bottom of the list. With a question mark by it. Nothing worries one more than instances like this, but I put it to the back of my mind & enjoyed the frankly excellent live music that was being produced from the stage. There were some great acts on that day, including Arthur's Vision, whom I recommend you check out. An acoustic duo also played, who were very good, but had a bit of a strop at the sound man after a song.
A tip for the budding musicans among you: If you have an issue with what you're hearing through the monitors (maybe you can't hear your vocals properly, or perhaps your guitar is being overpowered by your heavy breathing), ask the sound man nicely if he could tweak your mic level or whatever. DON'T shout "Oi, could we do summit about these monitors, I can't hear f**k all through this, it's all guitar!" It does not make you look terribly professional. Or pleasant. He will be far more willing you to help you if you're nice.
My set was brief, but fun. I played directly after MEME (again, brilliant band, check-a dem out!), appropriately seeing as we'd travelled together, and it was nice to see a bit of headbanging for "Blood On My Curtains", and a slight hush during "Imagine If We Fell In Love". I should give massive props to Sarah & Liv, who did good work distributing a few of my flyers around the bar. I put a few around also, but suddenly felt quite self-conscious about it. I did notice the gents had a pinboard above the urinals, so I pinned one there, just as a bloke came in to use the facilities. I ran off.***
So all in all, it's been a fun musical weekend. Full of laughs, unexpected moments & general japery. I really enjoyed it. I hope you've enjoyed reading about it. And think of what we've shared in the telling, since this blog started I have made dinner, eaten it, made a cuppa, drank it, and even imparted my tea-making method to you, the charming, discerning reader (you really are rather pretty, you know - your eyes sparkle. Do you do yoga?).
It's now time for me to go & get a good night's shuteye before the rigours of another day. There will be more adventures and ruminations soon, so keep them peeled! In the meantime, have fun & be safe. If you can't be safe, be seen.
Lots of love,
John.xx
*not an official tea measurement
**My guitar is safe & well, you will be happy to hear.
***What does one say at this point? "I want you to look at my face while you wee!" Hardly!
Tuesday 31 May 2011
Monday 30 May 2011
The Nicest Thing You Could Ever Say
This is a blog from about 6 months ago, in the run-up to Christmas. Affairs of the heart are never more than two seconds away from my mind, and it was with such preoccupations that I wrote this, on my private Facebook blog (why they insist on calling them notes, I don't know - they're blogs!
Festives, is it? Bloody hell, it seems so long ago since the last Christmas, when I was moving out of my last house and camping* with my parents until April, when I moved into the house I'm in now. It's felt like a year and a half, quite frankly. A year and a half in which I've had my feelings choked, made myself become me again, grown new feelings and completely failed to know what to do with them. The oft-repeated phrase it's that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. A stand-up comedian would follow this with a laughter-collected "Bollocks!" but he or she would be wrong to do so, because to become besotted with someone just lets you know you still have a pulse, and that people who can make you feel that way do still exist, which is a good thing.
Which is why I'm typing. Typing, typing, typing, like a giant hand made of fingers. There isn't a guidebook, is there? There isn't a cast-iron document which says that, should you notice that you are attracted to someone, this is how you must approach the situation. And nor should there be such a document - diversity being what it is, it's no wonder that different people should approach the situation differently. But, on the other hand, there are some people who just need a helping hand so that they don't cock it all up before they've even started.
Take me, for example. I am what you might call a head-in-the-clouds romantic. I am very much led by my feelings, but sort of half clam-up when trying to communicate this, which means that should I encounter someone who I like, my head instantly fills up with a thousand nice things to say, and they all seem to race to my mouth, resulting in a dead heat that finishes with a strangled "Erm... hi, would.. er, it? Sorry, I meant to say..." by which time the moment's passed and I can be left alone to beat myself up with a chair as punishment.
Has this ever happened to you? I have lost count of the amount of times I have been left standing in a room, suddenly remembering all the things I meant to say, and all the things that would have been much, much better to say than "Buh...Tchk... yeah!" It's sad that it makes you look like a stuttering weirdo when this happens, and it's a tragedy when the reality of it is: you're just trying to say the nicest thing you could ever say to someone: "I like you enough to want to get to know you better and spend more time with you. Would that be okay with you?"**
I can't help wondering how many men have similar issues, people who fall for someone and completely lose the use of limbs, digestion and/or speech. From what I've seen, there are a lot of blokes who will resort to bellowing, making lewd suggestions (while bellowing), honking car-horns and bellowing, or carring a hip-flask of rohypnol.*** I have no interest in any of these "techniques", and would just like to rely on good old-fashioned niceness. I suppose the question is: When in the same room as a girl you like, how do you make a good impression and get your insides to not tense up like a watch-spring when about to deliver a compliment or ask for a date?
It's easy (well, easy after about a fortnight of reflection) - relax. The only way someone worth having will want to look at you is if you're as comfortable with yourself as possible (without being cocky and vain), and if you don't pester, simper or constantly bellow your opinions. Oh, and if you're genuine. Be you. Keep breathing and don't succumb to that ever-present urge to shout "I LIKE YOU! WE COULD BE THE BEST THING TO EVER HAPPEN TO ONE ANOTHER!" - these sort of revelations are best kept to the 2nd date stage, if you get there (and they work better when not bellowed).
So, for those of you who have butterflies whenever you see that special someone - be nice to them, don't panic and let events run their course - if you're going to be together, it'll happen when it's ready. If you're not, be glad that someone exists in the world who is beautiful enough to alter the way you feel. These people are special and it's good to know that they are there. In the meantime, occupy yourself with a hobby - write love songs, draw, make a replica of the QEII out of matchsticks, see people as often as you can, do whatever you need to do to get yourself through those long, dark tea-times of the soul.
As for me? My heart and I shall continue to try and run each other ragged as Christmas starts. Now that my shopping has (for the most part) been achieved, I can at least stay calm in that department. Ready for the next year and a half? Of course!
Have a good Christmas, and stay merry.
*As in staying at the house of my parents, not becoming camper than Dale Winton.
**Although if you're saying this while holding a selection of her underwear in one hand, and an axe in the other, see a doctor or the police or both. Now. Don't even get to the end of this sentence, just go!
***I actually have never seen this, it was written purely for japery
Festives, is it? Bloody hell, it seems so long ago since the last Christmas, when I was moving out of my last house and camping* with my parents until April, when I moved into the house I'm in now. It's felt like a year and a half, quite frankly. A year and a half in which I've had my feelings choked, made myself become me again, grown new feelings and completely failed to know what to do with them. The oft-repeated phrase it's that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. A stand-up comedian would follow this with a laughter-collected "Bollocks!" but he or she would be wrong to do so, because to become besotted with someone just lets you know you still have a pulse, and that people who can make you feel that way do still exist, which is a good thing.
Which is why I'm typing. Typing, typing, typing, like a giant hand made of fingers. There isn't a guidebook, is there? There isn't a cast-iron document which says that, should you notice that you are attracted to someone, this is how you must approach the situation. And nor should there be such a document - diversity being what it is, it's no wonder that different people should approach the situation differently. But, on the other hand, there are some people who just need a helping hand so that they don't cock it all up before they've even started.
Take me, for example. I am what you might call a head-in-the-clouds romantic. I am very much led by my feelings, but sort of half clam-up when trying to communicate this, which means that should I encounter someone who I like, my head instantly fills up with a thousand nice things to say, and they all seem to race to my mouth, resulting in a dead heat that finishes with a strangled "Erm... hi, would.. er, it? Sorry, I meant to say..." by which time the moment's passed and I can be left alone to beat myself up with a chair as punishment.
Has this ever happened to you? I have lost count of the amount of times I have been left standing in a room, suddenly remembering all the things I meant to say, and all the things that would have been much, much better to say than "Buh...Tchk... yeah!" It's sad that it makes you look like a stuttering weirdo when this happens, and it's a tragedy when the reality of it is: you're just trying to say the nicest thing you could ever say to someone: "I like you enough to want to get to know you better and spend more time with you. Would that be okay with you?"**
I can't help wondering how many men have similar issues, people who fall for someone and completely lose the use of limbs, digestion and/or speech. From what I've seen, there are a lot of blokes who will resort to bellowing, making lewd suggestions (while bellowing), honking car-horns and bellowing, or carring a hip-flask of rohypnol.*** I have no interest in any of these "techniques", and would just like to rely on good old-fashioned niceness. I suppose the question is: When in the same room as a girl you like, how do you make a good impression and get your insides to not tense up like a watch-spring when about to deliver a compliment or ask for a date?
It's easy (well, easy after about a fortnight of reflection) - relax. The only way someone worth having will want to look at you is if you're as comfortable with yourself as possible (without being cocky and vain), and if you don't pester, simper or constantly bellow your opinions. Oh, and if you're genuine. Be you. Keep breathing and don't succumb to that ever-present urge to shout "I LIKE YOU! WE COULD BE THE BEST THING TO EVER HAPPEN TO ONE ANOTHER!" - these sort of revelations are best kept to the 2nd date stage, if you get there (and they work better when not bellowed).
So, for those of you who have butterflies whenever you see that special someone - be nice to them, don't panic and let events run their course - if you're going to be together, it'll happen when it's ready. If you're not, be glad that someone exists in the world who is beautiful enough to alter the way you feel. These people are special and it's good to know that they are there. In the meantime, occupy yourself with a hobby - write love songs, draw, make a replica of the QEII out of matchsticks, see people as often as you can, do whatever you need to do to get yourself through those long, dark tea-times of the soul.
As for me? My heart and I shall continue to try and run each other ragged as Christmas starts. Now that my shopping has (for the most part) been achieved, I can at least stay calm in that department. Ready for the next year and a half? Of course!
Have a good Christmas, and stay merry.
*As in staying at the house of my parents, not becoming camper than Dale Winton.
**Although if you're saying this while holding a selection of her underwear in one hand, and an axe in the other, see a doctor or the police or both. Now. Don't even get to the end of this sentence, just go!
***I actually have never seen this, it was written purely for japery
Sunday 22 May 2011
A Pair Of Smoking Shoes
Well, lummy-loo, what a week. I am sitting down to write to you in almost a slightly sombre frame of mind, owing to the fact that I have no milk left in the house, and cannot write with a cup of tea in my hand, or at least within ease of reach, or even in eyesight. (I am refusing to quoff the last beer in my fridge, as there has been an adequate intake this week already - I shall save this one for a special occasion.)
Anyway: what, as I said earlier, a week. Most of the thoughts in thisgreat nation of ours were with (or, to be more accurate, against) a certain politician, who appeared to be in a competition with himself as to how many times he could say the word "rape" in a sentence within five minutes of radio time. Evidently there are better people to ask about this topic, all of whom could be named by reciting the names of the Bash Street Kids. But honestly, has it actually become something you can boil down to a parody of a Smiths song? 'Some Rapes Are Bigger Than Others'? As a people, we all crammed our collective fist into our collective mouth in horror, I'll bet. Especially when they sent the interviewer out again two hours later to see what else he could conjure up out of his Magic Brain. Criminy.
Not that the trivialisation of non-permissive sex attacks was the only thing on our minds. We were all caught up in the excitement of the oncoming Rapture, weren't we? Weren't we?* I wonder how many people quit their jobs & made themselves ready for absolutely nothing on Saturday? I heard of companies/people offering to buy the pets of those about to yanked into the Great Hereafter (non-refundable too, I hear), which I thought was hilarious, and which summed it all up for me. I am amazed that people can believe such a thing is possible. Not to say I'm completely closed-minded - I love a fantastical idea, for example the TARDIS - I love the concept of it, it's brilliant, but there is no way one is going to materialise in my garden.
I was informed via Twitter that a dog lead had been found outside a cricket ground, on a bench, but with no accompanying dog, ergo we can cite the Rapturing of at least one canine pure soul. No one's heard from Harold Camping either, tellingly. I am expecting to hear a report of his door being kicked in, only for a pair of smoking shoes to be found in front of his rocking chair...
But: despite all the space these things have taken up on my writings here (and crikey wowsers, I've never written that much about current events before - don't expect this level of running news analysis every time folks, expect more on the topic of "Why I Don't Grow Facial Hair Terribly Well" or "I Hate Food Shopping"), there has been far too much going on in my tiny brain to give all this news the credence that it may or may not deserve. Namely: gigs. Well, mainly gigs. I could list the thoughts propping the mineshaft of my mind thus:
I don't know if I'm re-digressing or re-re-re-digressing, or if I even digressed in the first place, but I will attempted to stomp my way back to the point I think I was trying to make all those paragraphs ago (remember them? They were good, weren't they?), which is: it's been a good week for encouraging news.
Firstly, I have had what I take to be a Big Gig confirmed. I know a rather marvellous chap called Jack (witty lyricist, wickedly sharp guitarist), who is in a band called Our Mutual Friend. They are playing at the Artrix Theatre in Bromsgrove on 31st July & have asked me to support them. Tickets are £5 and it's all confirmed now (there's nothing they can do, bwah ha ha ha...), and so it will be my first gig in a proper theatre, a 300-seater. I am excited, daunted, and wondering how my odd brand of verbal sparring will fit in for a setting such as this will fare, but I like to think I'm fairly adaptable. I also wonder if it's that kind of setting that could suit me most, is that an "Ideas above my station" thing? Hmm...
Secondly (and as I prepare to write this I realise it's now in reverse chronological order), this coming weekend of the 27th, 28th & 29th May sees a flurry of activity that I couldn't have planned if I'd tried. 27th May involves Our Mutual Friend again, as they have a gig at my old local, The Full Moon, in Newcastle-under-Lyme. They are supporting a band, but have also gone on my website & learned the song 'Dirty Badger', which is jolly nice of them, and have asked me to join them onstage for this.
28th May is the Stone Music & Arts Festival Busking Competition, and I have gained a chance to compete. It starts at 10:30am, and I will have been guided to my spot, where upon I'll play my cotton socks off for an hour while judges peruse the acts. Not only am I praying for good weather (or at the very least, some sort of shelter!), but I am also hoping I keep it up for an hour in a high-street situation. It'll be a new & exciting experience! I initially had no idea what the competition would entail (other than 'busking' and 'competing'), but a couple of suggestions through Twitter tickled me, one of which was "Maybe the winner is the one who gets 'moved on' the least?" I'd like to see this iteration take place!
29th May is a charity event at Debees in Winsford, among the other acts playing at this all-dayer is MEME, whom I supported in Fenton a fortnight ago. It should be an exciting day, and the first time in a while that I've ventured outside of Staffordshire with a bunch of songs in my sweaty hand.
So that's all the business stuff I was going to tell you. I hope you found it informative and entertaining. If you didn't, I can only hope you found the 'back' button on the internet (if that is the case, I didn't do a very good job of hiding it, did I?). It's been a wonderfully encouraging week - those of you that have read this or listened to my music (or indeed both) and who have taken the time to tell me what you think - THANK YOU. You are lovely people and have made all this worthwhile, and you have also spurred me on to keep going.
So that's about it, folks. I am still cup-of-tea-less, as milk has failed to materialise, and I have yet to develop a freak lactating ability, much to my mingled relief/dismay. So thats about the most disappointing thing I can think of, really. Mind you, I understand some of you may be super-disappointed at not being Raptured. Understand that there are various degrees of Rapture, some of them are more serious than others. I believe Ken Clarke's going to talk about this tomorrow.
All the best, have a lovely week & take care.
John.x
*We weren't.
**We all know the answer to this will be yes - more-than-likely with an unattainable, beautiful woman who turns dusk into bright sunny afternoons with a wave of a smile.
***I'm not entirely sorry.
Anyway: what, as I said earlier, a week. Most of the thoughts in this
Not that the trivialisation of non-permissive sex attacks was the only thing on our minds. We were all caught up in the excitement of the oncoming Rapture, weren't we? Weren't we?* I wonder how many people quit their jobs & made themselves ready for absolutely nothing on Saturday? I heard of companies/people offering to buy the pets of those about to yanked into the Great Hereafter (non-refundable too, I hear), which I thought was hilarious, and which summed it all up for me. I am amazed that people can believe such a thing is possible. Not to say I'm completely closed-minded - I love a fantastical idea, for example the TARDIS - I love the concept of it, it's brilliant, but there is no way one is going to materialise in my garden.
I was informed via Twitter that a dog lead had been found outside a cricket ground, on a bench, but with no accompanying dog, ergo we can cite the Rapturing of at least one canine pure soul. No one's heard from Harold Camping either, tellingly. I am expecting to hear a report of his door being kicked in, only for a pair of smoking shoes to be found in front of his rocking chair...
But: despite all the space these things have taken up on my writings here (and crikey wowsers, I've never written that much about current events before - don't expect this level of running news analysis every time folks, expect more on the topic of "Why I Don't Grow Facial Hair Terribly Well" or "I Hate Food Shopping"), there has been far too much going on in my tiny brain to give all this news the credence that it may or may not deserve. Namely: gigs. Well, mainly gigs. I could list the thoughts propping the mineshaft of my mind thus:
- I really want to get my new songs recorded
- I should design a poster/flyer
- What will I play during my extra busy gig weekend?
- I should get my digital eight-track fixed so I can muck about with home demoes
- I wonder if I'll fall in love again?**
- When knuckleheads gather together in pubs and make up monosyllabic football chants in the beer garden, guffawing after every single one, does each one wish the others would show that glimmer of affection he's yearned for? That girlfriend is a front, after all...
I don't know if I'm re-digressing or re-re-re-digressing, or if I even digressed in the first place, but I will attempted to stomp my way back to the point I think I was trying to make all those paragraphs ago (remember them? They were good, weren't they?), which is: it's been a good week for encouraging news.
Firstly, I have had what I take to be a Big Gig confirmed. I know a rather marvellous chap called Jack (witty lyricist, wickedly sharp guitarist), who is in a band called Our Mutual Friend. They are playing at the Artrix Theatre in Bromsgrove on 31st July & have asked me to support them. Tickets are £5 and it's all confirmed now (there's nothing they can do, bwah ha ha ha...), and so it will be my first gig in a proper theatre, a 300-seater. I am excited, daunted, and wondering how my odd brand of verbal sparring will fit in for a setting such as this will fare, but I like to think I'm fairly adaptable. I also wonder if it's that kind of setting that could suit me most, is that an "Ideas above my station" thing? Hmm...
Secondly (and as I prepare to write this I realise it's now in reverse chronological order), this coming weekend of the 27th, 28th & 29th May sees a flurry of activity that I couldn't have planned if I'd tried. 27th May involves Our Mutual Friend again, as they have a gig at my old local, The Full Moon, in Newcastle-under-Lyme. They are supporting a band, but have also gone on my website & learned the song 'Dirty Badger', which is jolly nice of them, and have asked me to join them onstage for this.
28th May is the Stone Music & Arts Festival Busking Competition, and I have gained a chance to compete. It starts at 10:30am, and I will have been guided to my spot, where upon I'll play my cotton socks off for an hour while judges peruse the acts. Not only am I praying for good weather (or at the very least, some sort of shelter!), but I am also hoping I keep it up for an hour in a high-street situation. It'll be a new & exciting experience! I initially had no idea what the competition would entail (other than 'busking' and 'competing'), but a couple of suggestions through Twitter tickled me, one of which was "Maybe the winner is the one who gets 'moved on' the least?" I'd like to see this iteration take place!
29th May is a charity event at Debees in Winsford, among the other acts playing at this all-dayer is MEME, whom I supported in Fenton a fortnight ago. It should be an exciting day, and the first time in a while that I've ventured outside of Staffordshire with a bunch of songs in my sweaty hand.
So that's all the business stuff I was going to tell you. I hope you found it informative and entertaining. If you didn't, I can only hope you found the 'back' button on the internet (if that is the case, I didn't do a very good job of hiding it, did I?). It's been a wonderfully encouraging week - those of you that have read this or listened to my music (or indeed both) and who have taken the time to tell me what you think - THANK YOU. You are lovely people and have made all this worthwhile, and you have also spurred me on to keep going.
So that's about it, folks. I am still cup-of-tea-less, as milk has failed to materialise, and I have yet to develop a freak lactating ability, much to my mingled relief/dismay. So thats about the most disappointing thing I can think of, really. Mind you, I understand some of you may be super-disappointed at not being Raptured. Understand that there are various degrees of Rapture, some of them are more serious than others. I believe Ken Clarke's going to talk about this tomorrow.
All the best, have a lovely week & take care.
John.x
*We weren't.
**We all know the answer to this will be yes - more-than-likely with an unattainable, beautiful woman who turns dusk into bright sunny afternoons with a wave of a smile.
***I'm not entirely sorry.
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