"...Out Of The Bathroom, Wrapped In A Towel..."

It was Thursday evening on the 24th November, 7.30pm, in dark & rain-soaked Leeds.  I stepped out of the taxi, picked up my guitar, two bags and guitar stand, and carried them to the hotel.  I paid for my room, and was told to go to the 6th floor, to Room 629.

The lift door pinged open and I made my way down the long corridor, counting my way along the right-hand side - the odd-numbered side.  I finally came to 629.  I put down my belongings, swiped my card, nudged the door open and wedged it with my foot.  Then, picking up my bags & guitar, I backed into the room.  I turned around and took in my surroundings.

Five minutes later I was back at the Reception desk.
"Excuse me," I said.
"Hello sir, is everything okay with your room?" asked the man on duty.
"Well, funny you should ask - I think you've put me in a room that somebody's, well, in."
"Let me have a look for you." The man turned to his computer.  "No, according to this, there's no-one in there."
"There's a pair of glasses in there, and a rucksack is sitting on an unmade bed."
"Right." A pause.  "Shall I put you in Room 624?"
"If you would."

Good evening, Blogwatchers,

First off: Has it REALLY been this long since I wrote a blog for you to stare at with your eyes?!  The last blog I wrote appears to have travelled back in time to October 16th, and that's just madness, surely.  Ah well, evidently it isn't, and what it actually signifies is that I haven't been arsed to sit & write a bunch of paragraphs with some kind of underlying theme, like a big pratbasket.

(Also, I just moved my KitKat away from my cup of tea, in case the radiating heat from the mug causes the chocolate to melt.)

ANYWAY:  This last weekend has been gigful, for which I am thankful (bloody hell, what a mouthful).  The opening paragraphs of this timely blog detail the first thing that happened to me upon entering the city of Leeds, apart from the brisk walk through the city centre & taking a few moments of not knowing where the shit I was, before getting the aforementioned taxi.  (Seriously folks, it will never cease to amaze me, the sense of "Right, I bet I can find it on foot!" that overwhelms me when setting said foot in uncharted lands.  This bravado can last for anything up to two hours, before my legs & brain give up and I catch a taxi, which often drives me round a corner & charges me four quid for the privilege.)

I'm sure you can picture how much worse the scenario could have been when I entered the first hotel room.  I could have backed in just as some hairy bloke wanders out of the bathroom, wrapped in a bathtowel, brushing his teeth.  Just imagine that moment, that long, silent moment, as our eyes lock in mutual shock & embarrassment.  It being Movember, he probably has a moustache.  There's a bit of chocolate in it.  His grip slackens on the toothbrush, and it drops to the floor.

I like to think that had this happened, without saying a word, I would have backed out of the room in a similar manner to the way I backed in.

Also, when a man comes to you and tells you, from experience of actually having BEEN IN THE ROOM, that someone is already in there, at what point is looking at a computer to see what it thinks is happening going to be of any benefit?  Imagine if I worked in a police station and a man ran in and shouted "SOMEONE'S JUST BEEN STABBED!" and I followed that with "Well, I'll just have a look on our computer to see what's happening... Hmmm... Nope.  There's no mention of any stabbings..."

[deep breath]

After all that got dealt with, and I dropped off my overnight luggage in my room that was for ME, I made my way to the Verve bar (http://www.verveleeds.co.uk/).  I actually found this on foot with next to no trouble at all.  That is, I found the road it was on, but actually went the wrong way initially, and so for several minutes was walking in the wrong direction (and, in fact, at some points, along 3 completely incorrect roads that branched off Merrion Street, one of which lead me past a very sweary busker who wasn't keen on the fact that no-one was putting money in his guitar case).

I backtracked massively in the end, and spotted the sidestreet down which the Verve Bar was placed, and found a wonderfully cosy little bar.  The gig was taking place downstairs, in a slightly smaller bar-room, which had a stage at one end, big wall-hugging sofas at the other, and some alternative seating in the middle.  Amid the chaos of one of the acts trying to find working sockets & guitar/mic leads, was Hayley Gaftarnick, who runs the gig nights at Verve - she is a superb musician (go to http://www.youtube.com/user/HGaftarnick to see some of her performances and the like - she played "Forgive Me" at the end of the night) and a lovely person.

As all the setting-up continued, I parked myself on a settee & finished writing the inlays of the CDs I'd cobbled together, and chatted to Hayley & some of the folk who were in the bar.  The evenings that happen at Verve are quite beautifully serendipitous, from what I can gather.  The acts coalesce & form a good evening's entertainment, regardless of music genre, band members, or bar population.  As it happened, the two acts who also played that night were both very much into traditional blues stylings.

First up were High Hollers, a duo of vocals, acoustic guitar & mouth organ (http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-High-Hollers/122245211136019).  They were two, really nice & friendly chaps, with a good grip on "da blooz", and cheerfully commented upon how easy it is to slip into the wrong song, as some of them "do blur together after a while".  They played a nice set, albeit far too brief, sadly.  They were just hitting their stride when they got to the last song.

After this were Gerry Cooper & Phil Snell (www.philsnell.co.uk/GerryandPhil.aspx) .  Gerry played guitar and sang, while Phil alternated between mandonlin, acoustic guitar and violin, and also providing backing vocals.  Again, a wonderful selection of blues & bluegrass styles, with impressive fingerpicking, lead breaks, and instrumentals, and a pleasant conversational tone weaving its way through their set.  I was happily drawn into it all, and almost forgot that I was playing after them!

My set was fun.  I enjoyed it.  So, it seems, did everyone there.  I plucked a setlist out of thin air, including a new song called Pretty Soon, which I had written the week before, and even ended up leading a singalong of Crowded House's "Fall At Your Feet" with the crowd, after someone asked if I knew it (this is nice when it happens - usually I am haunted by cries of "D'yer know any Oasis?" or "PLAY RICHARD ASHCROFT!")  Speaking of which, how exactly does one play Richard Ashcroft?  Does he have guitar-like properties?  I suppose if I were to attach strings to his belt and stretch them over his face, applying pressure to strategic parts of his neck, chest and stomach, it could work.  On the whole, though, I'd rather just play guitar.

Anyway, it was a pleasure to play a venue completely new to me, to people who won't have heard me before, and have a completely fresh musical experience.  It was great fun, and everyone I met that night was lovely & friendly.  So, if you were there and you're reading this - thank you.

After the gig, we went to a handful of bars (not easy when you've a backpack, guitar stand & guitar case), the last of which took us to a completely different road, which meant that I completely lost my bearings and managed to direct myself to the place I mentioned earlier, where I was momentarily lost and got a taxi.  This time there weren't any taxis, it was 1am, and it was pissing rain.  I stomped swearily in three different directions for forty minutes or so, then went back & tried following the route the taxi had taken me five hours previously.  That worked, and I sloshed into my hotel, aching of shoulder & grumpy of temperament (it really was raining SO hard).  I relaxed as soon as I was in my hotel bed, and the good cheer returned very quickly. I slept like a log.

The following day was spent trying to walk around Leeds, but I didn't get terribly far, as intermittent rain dominated the afternoon, so I was mostly ducking from shopping centre to cafe in order to dodge another soaking.  In the midst of that, though, I did find Jumbo Records, a wonderful little independent record store (http://www.jumborecords.co.uk/), full of friendly staff and, had this place been in my vicinity on Independent Record Store Day earlier this year, I'd have provided my custom like a shot.  I bought Bon Iver's eponymous album from there, and have listened to it for the entire weekend, it's excellent.  One of the most unusual albums I've listened to of late, but unusual isn't the right word - "original sounding" is better.  Brilliant rhythms, arrangements and melodies.

After this I travelled home and spent the weekend largely recumbent - after carting my stuff around to Leeds & back, my shoulders were complaining a little.  On the Sunday night I played a gig supporting Headsticks and Dirty Money No.5 (http://www.dirty-money.net/) at Newcastle-under-Lyme's very own The Old Brown Jug (http://www.oldbrownjug.com/).  I've always loved the pub, my friends and I would gather there at the end of a working week, and I have seen a few bands play there, and now it was my turn.  It was a surprisingly comfortable place to stand and play, there's a very nice light set-up, and the crowd were friendly and attentive, which always makes my day.

Headsticks, an acoustic duo, describe themselves as agit-folk, and played a heartfelt set of songs that deal with local/global issues in a very empassioned & heartfelt way, but also with a gentle wit, especially in between-song banter.  You would ordinarily think that to write & play songs about the state of the nation would be an arduous task, but with Headsticks this is definitely not the case - their chatter and way with the stage make it enjoyable & an all-round good experience.

Dirty Money No.5 are more roots reggae, and also I have never seen them before.  Their set was good and lively, with a wonderful array of talented musicians, including wheels-of-steel vinyl skillz, which is not something I see every day.  They played a good set, and had it been on a busy Saturday, they would have encouraged a few dancers in the crowd.  Really good, energetic songs & performances.  Thank you to Andy Tranter and Geordie Nic McCarthy, and all who organised the gig and asked me to play & soforth.  It was a class night.

So there we have it.  A weekend's musicking & associated tomfoolery crammed into a single blog!  You must be on your second cup of tea by now, and in desperate need of toiletular relief, so I will let you do that funny mincing run as you clasp yourself in order to avoid making a mess.  RUN!  OR YOU'LL NEVER GET THERE IN TIME!

Meanwhile, sorry I've written so darned much, but this is what happens if you let me get away with not leaving a blog here for over a month.  Be warned: DON'T let this happen again!  I shall away to make a quick Audioboo (http://audioboo.com/mrjohnmacleod), something I have been having tremendous fun doing recently, and probably explains why i haven't written here for so long.  So while I go and do that, I leave you with gratitude for reading and I hope you're all well.

Goodnight all,
Love,
John.xx

All I Need Is A Tube Of Smoky Bacon Pringles And A Place From Which To Stand...

Hello everyone!  How are you all?  Comfortable?  You'd better be...

I have had an interesting weekend, in which I played a support gig for the superb Dead Radio Society, which was very nice indeed.  (I've known them for a year and a half, and this is the first time we've been able to share a billing, and - I hope - not the last.)  I then spent the weekend with friends, playing games, watching DVDs and going for a pub meal.  My weekend was briefly marred by a slightly rude cashier at a supermarket in Leek, who asked me for ID whilst I was buying a bottle of beer.  Apparently, I have to look over 25 in order to buy alcohol, and apparently, I don't.  I don't have any other form of ID than my passport, and I have never needed to take my passport to my supermarket.  I have only needed my passport in order to go to Greece.

Now seems to be a good time to mention that my 32nd birthday is this Friday, and also that my friends (who, incidentally, bought all the beer they could fit in a carrier bag or two each), who were with me in the queue, averaged at about eight years younger than me.  The irony is not lost on me that had I been unable to buy alcohol this weekend, it would have ruined a weekend of playing games and watching cartoons.

One thing I was able to buy without fear of reprisals was Pringles.  Oh, blogwatchers, I do love me some Pringles.  I know this constitutes product endorsement, and were I a well-established, internationally loved career-musician, I would be sitting here with my fingers crossed, looking out of my bedroom window in case a giant Pringles lorry crawled down my road, crunching wing-mirrors on the way past (for 'tis a small road bejewelled with cars), delivering the lifetime supply of moreish crisps I so crave.

(I also loved Cheese Bugles - an occasionally recurrent theme on Facebook and Twitter is my sorrow and teeth-gnashing disbelief that they are no longer available in the UK.  This is probably wonderful news for my arteries, who, years ago, had to sustain me despite my filling them with conical corn tastiness for several months.)

It gladdens my heart to see new flavours appearing as I gaze at the Pringles section in supermarkets these days.  I don't go for spicy flavours, nor do I like anything too oniony (cheese & onion has never appealed to me, largely because of the smell, but also because I used to sit next to someone who scoffed them at lunchtime, and then would breathe cheese & onion crumb-gas into my face - I still retch a little even now), no - my flavours of choice are either plain or something with a meaty theme.

Thus I was really curious (and my curiosity cannot be fully described on this humble blog without graphs and descriptive etchings) when I saw, on the shelf before me, Spaghetti Bolognese flavour Pringles.  And, two shelves down, Smoky Bacon.  Paydirt.  As far as the bolognese goes, they are doing a range of dinner flavours, it seems, as there was also steak & ale (or onion, I forget) pie flavour, spicy fajita, and macaroni cheese (this one's next on the "To-Try" list).  As for smoky bacon, I'd not seen these before, and I just love bacon.

I can entertainedly report that, once I'd bought my beer from Tesco's (self-service till, authorisation needed, staff-member didn't even look, just swiped the card & let me buy the beer - THAT'S HOW IT'S DONE!), and we all got back to my friends' house, the bolognese Pringles were tentatively tried & ambivalence was the main verdict.  However, when I came downstairs the next morning, they had been polished off and it was agreed that, yes - the more you eat, the better they get.

I am not a connoisseur of food, it must be said.  I love a good meal and will happily eat in whatever decent restaurant you plonk me in, but start talking snacks & I will compare happy/outraged memories, share out bags of crisps for taste-testing (and also a glass of water or lemonade, you don't want to cross-pollinate flavoursome crumbs for fear of spoiling the judgement), and hide Monster-Munch in a bottomless crevass (I have no desire to smear my teeth in orange gunk, thankyouverymuch, and the same goes for Wotsits).

I can imagine you being a bit concerned by these paragraphs, so I will take a moment to assure you that this is not an obsession.  I have, in recent months, become aware of how many bags of crisps I can get through during weekends and time at work.  I recently cut crisps from my lunchtime diet, and a tube of Pringles is a rare treat for me.  I would expect them to stay that way too, otherwise the beauty of them would just be lost in a haze of dry-mouthed salt-lust.

Anyway, I think you all know me that little bit extra now, and I feel a little bit easier plugging my wares.  As you all know, I am writing a mailing list and I would continue to urge you to join up and receive an e-mail from me once a fortnight.  It'll be largely upcoming gig lists and the like, but I would make efforts to send the odd e-mailable free gift (I have just laughed whilst typing this, as there is no way of e-mailing something you would have to pay for, and I currently have no items for sale - although I am now working on this).  I do recommend the mailing list, as it will prevent any confusion regarding the location of any gigs I'm playing at, and any other pertinent information.  I am slightly better at giving out all the relevent details on the mailing list, and it's a friendly little mailout as well.  Ask anyone who's on it!

If you'd like to join (and after that cosy ad, why wouldn't you?), go to www.wix.com/mrjohnmacleod/music and go to the 'Contact' page, where there is an e-mail form to fill in.  That goes straight to me, and I'll add you to the list.  If you're going to this site through your smartphone, you will instead see a link that says "Get in touch" - you'll be able to e-mail me through that.  You would be most welcome and will receive the digital equivalent of a nice hot cup of tea and the biscuits of your choice (I could talk about that now, but it's a whole other blog...).

Meantime, if you chaps would like to know where I am up to at the moment, I am still looking at songs and wondering what to do with them.  It's an odd thing, I am very, very eager to put songs somewhere where you can download/buy/keep them, and that is now quite high on my priority list.  I am thinking of one or two EPs of home demo material while I work at what I would like my "album" to be.  So I will keep plugging away at home demoes (and, more importantly, getting them right) with which to do this.  So please do keep bearing with me while I'm working this out, because I feel I am not that far from having things I can present to you (that aren't diatribes about crisps).

In the meantime, I hope you have finished your cup of tea before it went cold, and if you feel you need something stronger and alcoholic to drink (my blogs can have this effect, I've had the tests done), make sure you take your passport with you when you go to buy it.

Take care folks,
John.xx

A Long And Enigmatic Pause (Meeting Your Heroes Isn't Always A Bad Thing)

Nerina Pallot & I, 4th October 2011

Hello Blogwatchers! (Yes, I realise I come up with a different name for you every time I write here, but this is something that we are all going to have to live with.  I'm sorry, but there it is.)  Since last we spoke, I have returned from holiday, gone back to work for a week, and then taken most of the next week off to go & see Nerina Pallot play at the Manchester Academy 2.  More on that later, but I thought I would mention it now so as to explain the opening photograph that graces this post.

First, there is business to deal with.  SICKENING business!  Last time, I was telling you about my situation with drumming and the potential of the noise carrying over to next door due to very thin walls, was I not?  I would just like to quote for you, a segment from the last blog:

"...(It also occurs to me that I have, at this house, never had that moment where my blood runs cold because I realise I can clearly hear next door bonking - evidently they too are scared stiff, if you'll pardon the phrasing)..."

Just mull that quote over to yourselves, dear readers.  The following week after I wrote those words, the Friday, to be precise, I was putting my shoes on to go to a works dinner (Chinese food, fantastic restaurant, just down the road from me - delicious!), I heard a funny noise.  I thought it was me sitting on my bed at first.  Then it happened again while I was sitting still and I realised it was not from my side of the wall.  It wasn't until the fourth or fifth moan that I realised exactly what it was, and that it was not, after all, a creaky door.

Oh dear.

Of course, I would never pour scorn upon a couple doing whatever they wish to do in their own home, but it does rather shine a poor light upon the sound insulation in terraced houses.  Nearly two years ago, when I moved into this house, one of the people next door came upstairs and said "Goodnight!" to someone, to which I (who was sitting on my settee reading a book) replied "G'night!"  That's how thin the walls are.

And yes, in some ways I am grumbling about two peoples evident happiness and contentment, but I don't want to hear that every night! And it has been every night up until last night.  It's a bit quieter now, so I'm either successfully blocking it out or it's not on the menu at the moment.  Either way, THANK YOU.  But you haven't come here for prurient gossip about my neighbours, have you. (Have you?)  No, of course you haven't.  You've come here to find out what happens when you go Manchester to see a favourite musician, and share a room with four other people.  Well, even if you haven't, that's what you're getting.

I had elected to travel light, but in doing so, completely forgot I was staying in a shared hostel, so realising I had forgotten to pack sleepwear and a towel was something of a revelation.  Thankfully I could hire a towel for a pound, so that was fine.  I did have to snoop round Primark for cheap jimjams though, which I managed to find.  My room had three bunkbeds in it, one of which was to be unoccupied, so all in all there five of us.  When I went to see Bright Eyes in July, I was sadly late for the gig and missed half the support set.  I didn't want this to happen again, so I left the hostel earlier and got to the Academy in plenty of time.

A chap named Samuel Taylor kicked the night off as a solo acoustic act, and was really good.  His stage banter improved as his set progressed, and his songs were excellent.  It almost seemed a pity that by the time he had a really good rapport with the audience, it was his last song, but it's how these things go.  After him, Jodie Marie was the second support act.  Again, excellent songs, a very strong voice, and good musicians backing her, on percussion and acoustic guitar.

After a fairly short pause while the instruments & gear were set up, Nerina and her band took to the stage...

Nerina Pallot & her band, Manchester Academy 2, 04/10/2011

Nerina's concert was a blinder, and an inspiring one, albeit in a different way to the Bright Eyes gig.  It's a hard one to put into words, but it was like instead of going to a gig, it felt as if we'd all been invited into a party.  Nerina does a wonderful line in stage banter, and so much of the gig can be given to stories and ruminations.  Sometimes it will be relevant to an upcoming song, sometimes it won't, but it will always be funny, entertaining and welcomed by the audience.  Two songs into the set, Nerina's first words to us, after a long and enigmatic pause, were: "Oh fuck it, I was going to do this whole gig and not say a word, but that would be wrong, wouldn't it?"

From then on there were some lovely moments with stories of friends of hers who'd met at university and got married, a couple in the audience got engaged between songs, thoughts were shared on the real reason people wear sunglasses indoors, and her first gig at Acedemy 2 ten years ago was discussed.  Oh, and there were songs, lots of brilliant songs.  Some of Nerina Pallot's music puts a lump in my throat no matter where I hear it, and  'History Boys' is one of the new songs which does this, and the emotional impact was not lost onstage, in fact it was intensified (and I am half-glad that 'If I Lost You Now' or 'Grace' didn't show up, as they get me the most).

It was a lovely concert, and I am glad to have made it to Manchester to see it (any excuse to come to Manchester, really).  I hung around the Merchandise stall, as that is apparently where Nerina goes post-show to chin-wag with fans, and after a short while and no Nerina, security herded us out to the entrance hall where we were told she'd come down shortly.  After a further few minutes or so, security then asked everyone to leave the building.  I had started chatting to Jenny, Anneka and Elga, from Germany, who were in England to see all Nerina's shows (like a travelling holiday but with more music), and I asked security, as much on their behalf as mine, what was happening, as we were hoping to say hi etc.  "Nah, you'll have missed her," was the reply, so we left the building.

I didn't think the security chap was entirely right, as there's usually loads of equipment loading and palaver after a gig, and I didn't think it'd hurt to check round the side of the venue, and sure enough there was a van being loaded with stuff, and one or two other people standing around in a hopeful sort of way.  And yes, after a short while, Nerina came out.  She had come, Sharpie in hand, to where she thought everyone would be, in the building, but found it empty after security had cleared everyone out, so didn't get to meet many people afterwards, somewhat unfairly both for her and for the people who were hoping to see her.

I would like to say in print (well, blogprint at any rate) that Nerina Pallot is such a cheerful and lovely person to meet.  She is always genuinely excited that people listen to her music, and knows what a lucky & unqiue position she is in, and that enthusiasm shows in everything she does.  I think that enthusiasm stopped me feeling too nervous (I have written before about an incident concerning Neil Finn and my gabbling to him over my wallet, which had been stolen earlier in the day), and also the fact that she recognised me from my tweetings and YouTube competition entry, which, while there's no reason it should, surprised me.  It was nice to have a natter (she loves Staffordshire oatcakes, and if there's ever one reason to briefly visit, that's it).  I have been something of a vociferous supporter of her of late (see my "John MacLeod Speaks To The Internet" YouTube series), and, I have always felt, with good reason.  If you don't already listen, track down her albums & do so.

The evening ended with Jenny, Anneka, Elga and I walking through Manchester to our respective hotels, talking about music and the way the internet has changed how musicians can interact with their fans, and spread their listenership.  Jenny & I also talked about her travels to the UK to see touring musicians, and I would reckon she's seen more of the UK than I have!  This is another thing I love about going to gigs - should you happen to make a friend, it can be a rather nice thing.

I got to my hostel at probably about quarter past midnight.  I quietly tiptoed into my room, to find I wasn't the last one in (yes - small victory!)  I got changed in the bathroom and tried to put all my stuff in an orderly pile without making too much noise (there was a paper bag which could not have crinkled any louder, to my exasperation), I climbed the ladder to my bunk, lay down, and completely and utterly failed to get to sleep.  I must only have nodded off for the few minutes that Occupant #5 turned up & got into bed.  Other than that, I was very, very aware that a further four people were breathing/snoring/sleeping, and I could not nod off for love nor money.  Still, for one night it was perfectly comfortable and would go there again next time.  So long as the hot water's fixed (the cold shower I had to endure the following morning was the least enjoyable shower I've had in a long time).

So that's a recap of the last few days, dear Blogwatchers.  I hope you have enjoyed reading it, as I certainly have enjoyed writing it.  If you would like to receive fortnightly ramblings and news from me, I have started a mailing list which will include any forthcoming live dates, news, and the occasional free gift (the sort that could be attached to an e-mail, of course).  If you would like to join it, I would urge you to get your skates on and go to http://www.wix.com/mrjohnmacleod/music where, on the Contact page, is a little form you can fill in to send me an e-mail.  Once you've done that, I will add you to the mailing list and you can get updates from me about stuff.  Please do sign up if you're interested in my doings, as could prove to be a handy reminder for anything you might miss on Twitter!

Right, the hour is late, rain is pattering against my window, and I am getting up and playing badminton with a friend of mine tomorrow.  I do not wish to appear zombie-like.  I wish you all a lovely sleep, and take care.  Thank you for reading,

Love,
John.xx

The distinct possibility of a swim

Good day to you,

Now, before you start, YES - I know I'm on holiday; YES - I know I should be putting all my inner workings to one side and "de-compressing" or whatever they call it; and NO - I evidently don't have a life.  But I live to serve you nice people, and so seeing as how I shan't be broadcasting to you via YouTube today, and that I don't have my guitar with me (this is KILLING me by the way, more on that later, assuming I don't start bawling my eyes out and forlornly air-guitaring), I am going to give you the gift of words.

So, as I say, I'm on holiday.  I am at Elveden Forest Center Parcs with my family, and I have not been on a big family holiday for YEARS.  I haven't been to Center Parcs for about four years, and the last BIG family outing was a while before even that, so I can see myself regressing significantly.  Especially with the addition of my little nephew, who is almost 8 months old and has just mastered crawling.  My parents, uncle & I arrived after a five-hour car journey to find the little fella excitedly clambering across the floor in chase of a plastic ball.  It's amazing and funny and scary all at once.  I last saw him at the start of August and he had mastered being on all fours, but could not progress to moving himself about, which he really wanted to do.

We also witnessed a first this morning - my brother-in-law put one of his spoons in his hand, to see what he would do with it, and after a moment's deliberation he held it properly and placed the spoon end in his mouth, prompting a round of applause.  He seems to like applause, so perhaps I should get him on a musical instrument early?  Not drums, my sister would never forgive me. [evil chuckle...]

It makes me think of when I started becoming musically inclined.  I was about 16/17 and had started listening to Crowded House (when their best of came out & they broke up, incidentally - my timing was impeccable, I had the same effect on Ben Folds Five, so if you wish to blame me, go right ahead), and the first instrument I tried was drums.  I loved my drum kit.  Especially when I had the skins replaced with Remo drum skins and got some Paiste cymbals.  Magic.  If I could have kept them and used them for recordings, I absolutely would have.  I used to drum along to Crowded house albums, and Fleetwood Mac too.  A friend of the family visited for a weekend once, and brought with him a copy of the Fleetwood Mac live video ("The Dance" - it is excellent, and you haven't seen it, I urge you to), and watching Mick Fleetwood drum was one of those inspiring moments that I remember.  Except I don't pull as many silly face as he does.  Hopefully.

Sadly, my drums were eventually sold.  I had long since started playing guitar by this point, and we needed not only the space, but I bought a drum machine to aid & facilitate my recording exploits.  A substantial amount of recordings on my website/soundcloud/Facebook pages were recorded with my programmed drums, and Sea Glass is the only one that involves my electric drum kit and is, ergo, ACTUALLY me drumming.  It's nice to be able to do that again, I have missed it.  The reason i now have electric drums is that they are easy to move about and are not as neighbourhood-angering as an actual drum kit (although the noise of me banging them must sound like hammering to next door, and as such I still feel guilty about playing them).

My current living circumstances are that I have neighbours and very thin walls, which I think is inhibiting me and my recording a little, and I am terrified to make too much noise too often, therefore I am getting very little done.  I am thinking a way round this.  (It also occurs to me that I have, at this house, never had that moment where my blood runs cold because I realise I can clearly hear next door bonking - evidently they too are scared stiff, if you'll pardon the phrasing)  I may have said this before, but coming in and eating on a weeknight leaves little time to do anything much, so I have weeknight blues, followed by YouTube weekends, so once I get this block of six out of the way, my weekends will be a bit more recordingy and when I start John Macleod Speaks To The Internet again, I will record them on weeknights, as I will hopefully not be relying on daylight for a decent picture!

In the meantime, as mentioned earlier, I do not have my guitar on this holiday.  I appreciate how long I can spend strumming, and I was worried that all of us in this villa (there are eight of us, plus my nephew) being at close quarters, my guitar would be an irritant.  I now crave a strum on my guitar, and I worry that I will get an idea for a song and now way of pinning it to a chord structure.  I do have my lyric book with me, so I can at least write things down.  That said, my frame of mind has moved from "writing" to "recording", which is an odd feeling, because it's as if I have noticed this shift, like a flicked switch.  I want to apply ideas and processes to existing songs now, instead of creating them.

Still.  Today is nice.  It is sunny, and I have been lent The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo by a lovely lovely friend, so I think I will tuck into that.  And there is the distinct possibility of a swim later.  Enjoy what you are doing, hope your weekends are full of goodness.

Speak soon chuckleheads,
John.xxx

P.S:  This week there has been a significant surge in very lovely people taking an interest in my scribblings, songs and the like, for which I would like to say THANK YOU SO MUCH.  The reason I do this is because I want people to hear my songs and without people passing on words of encouragement and being generally ace, this would feel a lot more like an uphill battle.  And it gives me more of a drive to do stuff that you will like, so please do keep sticking with me and I will do likewise.  Your support means a hell of a lot to me, and if you like it, please spread the word.  I really am very grateful and it has made this week magical.  Keep listening! :-P

A mess of nerves

Hello, people-who-follow-what-I-do-on-the-internet (or, as I like to call you, "folks").

I am getting the impression that there might be an extra handful of you this week, owing to a certain glass-bead-making magician lady who gave me a shout-out on the Twitter and turned my weekend from an okay one into a lovely one.  I had recently uploaded my new YouTube video which gave her a mention (and if you want to find out who, watch Episode Five of my "Speaks To The Internet" series, shown below.  I know - me so crafty...)  There was I, food-shopping in a petrol station/miniature supermarket at half past three in the afternoon, when suddenly a barrage of lovely tweets kicked their way onto my phone, from people saying hello & announcing their intention to give me a follow on the say-so of my friend.  I am not too proud to say I got a little teary-eyed and had to pretend that I was allergic to microwaveable party food (I was standing next to the freezers) before gathering my wits & buying an extra packet of biscuits.

But I am not here simply to tell you that I cry in miniature supermarkets - that would be folly!  I am also here to tell you of my baffling apathy.  Well, it's not apathy as such, more lacking in time.  I am finding that there are not enough hours in the day, and by the time I have eaten dinner, it is practically too late to start rattling round the house, making loud noises and upsetting the neighbours.  For this reason alone, I am looking forward to getting the last "Speaks To The Internet" out of the way, because I will then spend a few weekends getting songs made and experimenting and the like.  The only song I have had chance to play with has been Sea Glass, and I'm very pleased with the results there, so the potential for other songs is rather exciting.

And I think the thing I am rather excited about is that I feel ready to tinker with at least a dozen songs!  There was a point when I was writing a lot, and didn't feel quite ready, as a result, to record.  I don't know how regular this is for any other musicians among you, but I think I am either in a writing frame of mind, or recording.  I have very prolific periods when I am writing songs, and then it's as if it turns off  in order to tell me to get cracking on recording all of them.  This is all well and good, but when time becomes something you don't have a great deal of, that urge to record becomes as much of a curse as it does a blessing, so, as I say, once I get my last YouTube episode done, I will get cracking on my demoes again.

I'll be honest with you, as I know that you're all imagining me with my customary cup of tea whilst typing this at you, I am sans cuppa.  I KNOW.  It has been a day where I felt myself atrophying in my day-to-day surroundings, and after I had dinner I felt the need to at least play through one or two songs, whereupon the time slipped to 10.30pm and yawns were happening.  I am due an early night or two, so here I am typing in bed.

What else is going on?  Well, I go on a holiday with my family on Friday.  We haven't all been on a family holiday for years, and my 7-month-old nephew is coming too, so it's going to be a lovely week.  Also, Friday is the deadline day for entries to the Nerina Pallot support slot competition, so I might be a mess of nerves by then.  I have mentioned it a fair bit, I know, and it is funny because directly after uploading my entry for it, I was anxiety personified.  I had levelled off a bit in the intervening couple of weeks, but I noticed today that I am once again on tenterhooks, trying not to focus on a) What could happen if I win, and b) What could happen if I lose.  I am not expecting to win, I have seen some of the entries and they are superb, but it's fun having submitting something & I can't tell you how much I would love the chance to do this.

The radio appearance I mentioned last time is still on - an interview & three songs at Moorlands Radio, Monday 26th September GMT, 7pm - 10pm.  You can tune in on 103.7FM or log onto http://www.moorlandsradio.co.uk/ to listen live, and if you want to find the Facebook page and send them messages or questions for them to ask me, the page is here, so go for it.

That's all the business & waffle dealt with, I think.  If you are new to my internet doings, welcome - please don't hesitate to join in & comment, be it here, Twitter, YouTube or Facebook.  I welcome interaction so long as you're not impolite or offensive, so if you like what I do, don't be shy in saying.  I wouldn't feel able to do any of this if no-one was paying attention or shouting encouragement!

There will be more blog soon, in the meantime - see you when the next YouTube video comes out!

Lots of love,
John,.xxx

A grudge or a whim

Evening, readers.

Another day, another night, another session in front of my computer, typing out codswallop in the company of a good cup of tea (one step beyond just "showing it the teabag", I like it weak, but not anaemic). Actually, it's a bit lukewarm now. It was too hot, but I think I've spent too long letting it sit.

(I have to type this now as it sounds rather cool and exciting, but I have had to stop writing this blog for a few minutes after receiving a message from a local radio station, asking for any more mp3s in the run-up to my interview and session later this month. I have hunted down the most recent recording I've made & emailed it off. As a consequence, this blog is now ten minutes behind schedule and my cup of tea is now undrinkable, but, in the long-run, it's worth it, isn't it?)

If there's any of you here who stalks me, you will no doubt know that I have been excitedly starting a YouTube series for the past few weeks (what?! Over a MONTH?!!) and have rather excitedly been doing all sorts on it. Now, I don't know if it shows, but I do work rather hard on them. It's taken a few goes to get the format of my weekly series looking right, but I reckon I hit my stride by Episode Three - the look of it & the way it's put together is now possibly the swishest I can manage (and just wait until I get a lead for my camera - it should really hit a new height by then!). Anyway, to keep to the point: I work hard and I do my best to deliver something you may want to watch.

So with this thought in mind, it seems somewhat silly to allow internet trolls with an itchy antisocial trigger-finger to stamp through my page on YouTube and start clicking "dislike" on all my videos, doesn't it? Yes, it does.  Now, I know you could write this off with a simple "Oh, look at 'im chucking his toys out the pram just 'cos someone didn't like his wittering on about fish & chips," and I don't even say that I'd deny that, but the thing is, the rating system on YouTube doesn't seem to make a great deal of sense, or at least isn't a reliable way of gauging a good video from a bad video, and it's also apparently based on the assumption that internet trolls don't exist.

I can assure you, they do.

If we take my uploads as an example: As of Sunday morning, no-one had clicked "dislike" on any of the videos I have posted thus far. I posted Episode Four and within half an hour it had been disliked. Then, in the space of five or ten minutes, all my videos were similarly "rated". But what does it mean to click that button? Next to nothing - it just means that your videos are shown to have a negative rating, which looks bad. I didn't slog my guts out to make something that will look bad purely because someone doesn't like my face! Call me old-fashioned, but if you've nothing pleasant to say about something someone's posted on the internet, you just leave it be, surely? Or if you've a constructive gripe, you take the time and effort to order your thoughts and post a comment, maybe? You don't just click a button that effectively says "I think this is shit, and furthermore, I won't tell you why either!"

I suppose, to me, it goes against the kind of community that sites like YouTube strive to encourage. They try to foster a community spirit, where someone may say "Hey, I like your work," or "This is good, but I felt it needed..." and the "dislike" button seems to go against that - it's just a purely negative thing. When I started using Facebook earlier last year, I saw people saying "Why isn't there a "dislike" button on Facebook?", which I at first joined in with, but now I think I know why there isn't one. Which is why I've disabled the function on my videos. You can now either ignore it, or favourite it, or write a constructive comment. I have no time for people I do/don't know just clicking "dislike" due to a grudge or a whim, so the chance shall not be open.

So, stepping off my soapbox and sliding it quietly under the settee, I will tell you how amazed I have been by something today. I am currently wearing trousers that I wore for my graduation ceremony. In 2001. Yes, these suit trousers are ten years old and they still fit. Unless I eat dinner, whereupon I will sit for five hours and wonder if anyone will notice, should I do an ear-splitting guff to release the pressure on the trouser-fastenings. I will not lie, I am not surprised. I grabbed them out of the wardrobe by mistake and was amazed that I could pop them on AND do them up, but the point where I started to get a vaguely achey stomach was something I had half-expected. At least I didn't launch into a protracted coughing escapade and launch a button into anyone's eye. That would have been unfortunate.

"So, amid all this conflab & soapbox-ranting, is there anything you can offer us by way of actual information, you cretinous halfwit?" I hear you ask. The answer is a sort of a "No"-ey "Yes". I can tell you for definite that I will be supporting Dead Radio Society on October 14th, in an evening's celebration of the release of their EP, "Plan Z" (which you will have to fang hold of when it's released, because if it's anything like the work-in-progress preview I heard a few months ago, it will be simply superb). I can also tell you that I will be appearing on Moorlands FM later this month, on Monday 26th September. Now, they are on 103.7 FM in my local area (just), but they DO broadcast on the internet as well, at www.moorlandsradio.co.uk, and the show is on every Monday at 7pm-10pm, so if you have those hours free, I would love for you to tune in and listen. I was on there in January this year, so it's nice to be invited back and to give a progress report on what I've been doing since (writing alot, playing more is the upshot, but I'm sure I can pad it out).

There is nothing else I can yet divulge, apart from I have three songs that I aim to have a boot around on this week, voice prevailing. I had a bit of a sore throat issue last week & it's just starting to clear up, so hopefully I can get a few things done before I go on holiday in a fortnight. Any other information is currently speculation, unconfirmed or merely an idea floating in the ether, so all I can say is stay tuned, and as exciting things happen I will drip feed them to you. If you're not already, I heartily recommend following me on Twitter (http://twitter.com/mrjohnmacleod) or Facebook (www.facebook.com/mrjohnmacleod) to get the up-to-the-minute info I strive so hard to give you.

So with all the information and nonformation with which I have presented you, it seems a perfect moment for me to give you a hug, a peck on the cheek, slip your arms into your coat (for I'm a proper gent, me) and wish you a safe journey. I will see you here again soon, no doubt, and I will talk just as much shit then as I have tonight. I enjoy these trips to Blogland, but bed calls and a long week awaits. I hope we continue to make this week bearable for each other, so do pester me (within reason).

Goodnight, folks!
John.xx

Incorporating my neck-size

Well, look at this - it's only been a week & I'm writing to you again. One of us is luvky, while the rest are cursed (and I'm going to keep it quiet as to who is who in this scenario). I suppose it seems (to me, at least) as if I have been writing to you in intensely descriptive terms, a sort of "What-I-Did-On-My-Gig-In-A-Theatre" sort of a way, and I'd like very much to hurl seemingly unconnected words at you for half an hour, purely for our own entertainment. I also would like to try and squeeze two blogs into August, just to prove to myself (and, by extension, you) that I still got it.

So, as we speak, there are two chicken & mushroom crispbakes about to go into the oven, alongside three waffles and a saucpanful of baby carrots. Yes, I eat like a prince here at MacLeod Villas, and even as I type these words to you, a handful of different stories come flooding to mind that I could tell you (and flit back out again, such is the flitting quality of my memory). It is also practically night-time, which is a bit upsetting at barely 9 o'clock.

I have been doing something recently that I haven't done properly for quite some time: reading. My friend Matt let me borrow a couple of books by an author called Neal Stephenson ('Snowcrash' and 'Cobweb' - two very different styles of book, but very good), which have lead me inexorably toward looking out for book recommendations - and the first one I saw a couple of weeks ago was for 'One Day' by David Nicholls - now a motion picture, I gather - and I snagged a copy at the start of the week, and finished it soon after. I loved the premise of the book, and something about the way the central characters dance about each other as the years pass made me think of The Time Traveler's Wife (which I have just started re-reading). I don't yet know if I want to go and see the film (I suppose really I should make my mind up sharpish, seeing as it's already out and films currently tend to be in & out of cinemas faster than Usain Bolt, only with less false starts), but I can imagine it being well carried out. For reference, I have not seen the film of The Time Traveler's Wife, and I have no real wish to. I like the way it settles in my imagination.

Everything else has been surprisingly YouTube-oriented these last few weeks. Those of you who watch me like a hawk will have seen that every third tweet has mentioned either an episode of John MacLeod Speaks To The Internet or my acoustic cover of Nerina Pallot's "Turn Me On Again" (which, by the way, has been viewed 109 times - THANK YOU if you've watched it). It had long been a hope that I'd have the wherewithal to start putting things on YouTube, because as online audiences go, it's quite a good one. Taking my cover video as a case in point - that video is parked directly underneath Nerina's own acoustic version of the song, because it is a video response to that song & part of a competition to win a support gig at the Shepherd's Bush Empire. As I say, it's been watched a surprising 109 times, compared to the respectable viewing figures twenty/thirty-odd times of the videos I have uploaded containing my own material. It just goes to show that if you place something where more people are likely to see it, curiosity will lead them to look. People won't always look of their own accord - they need a breadcrumb trail. So in all sorts of ways, it's been rewarding (of course now it's also nervewracking - I want to know who wins!).

The silliest thing was how quickly it went dark. I got in from work, plugged my studio mic into the computer to see if it would work (it did) and then got on with it, making occasional mistakes and refilming. And refilming. And refilming. It wasn't quite nightfall, but if you watch the video, you will notice that there's no daylight either. I was lit by a small lamp and the LED lightstring that decorates my music room and keeps it looking rather neat. This obviously lead to the tracking capabilities of my netbook's webcam being significantly stunted, hence the jerky quality of the video. At least the sound's good & that's the main thing!


In the meantime, I have finished me dinner and am very much of a mind to get a cup of tea going, alongside a choccy bar. I have recently cut down on the crisps (I used to have a bag a day with lunch) in favour of having fruit (in fact, now I think about it, I went food shopping today and completely forgot bananas, and the Vitamin C soluble tablets I was going to get - AND BREAD! - a follow-up trip to Sainsbury's beckons), which means that every couple of weeks, I might buy a tube of Pringles or a bag of Doritos & enjoy them as a rare treat in companion to a DVD or computer game. It's not proved as hard to back away from things crispular as I thought, and I know for a fact that chocolate would have been a far harder proposition. But giving up too much snacking has its roots in a story...


There was a time when I was living in a house, and I wasn't terribly happy (I was almost ecstatic but, to be ecstatic, there's a frustrating period right before it, of utter misery), and the music had faded a bit to the back of my mind after years of open mics, a shattered band & little else. There was not a great deal going on. I was working, and I lived opposite a supermarket. Many an evening would skate by on PS3-shaped wheels, sometimes accompanied by Radio 7, depending on the game I was playing, and often accompanied by snacks. One afternoon was spent gaming, with the toaster plonked on a table in front of me, along with a kettle. Ingenius, you may say, but also perhaps a bit tragic. Of course, trips to the supermarket were almost nightly, and one one jaunt, I noticed that there was a special deal on arctic rolls. Chocolate ones.


I was pretty good to begin with. I'd buy one and cut a slice off after meals. Then into thirds. Then half. Then there'd be the odd night when the only time I cut one was with my fork. For mouthfuls. I am reliably informed that by the time I moved out of the house and in with my folks for a few months, my chin was growing a friend, and my shirts were having trouble incorporating my neck-size. I think I was looked after a bit for a time, and have since got back into better shape, and I am now a lot more cautious of the snacks I hurl into my face of an evening, because I think I do have the tendency to comfort-eat that I didn't realise was there before.


Which isn't to say that living alone doesn't have its plus-points - I have free run of things, I can record a demo at will, and at the drop of a hat - should I so desire - I can leave the milk out and take a bite out of some cheese (I don't do those things EVER), and if I'm having a bad day, I don't have to be unintentionally rude to someone or feel so awkward that I just go out to the pub until I reckon they've gone to bed.


On the other hand, someone being there can make the difference between going to bed cross and going to bed feeling better, and it can bolster you into activity. You can, if you're very lucky, make a friend for life. Ideally it'll be a relationship living arrangement though, which is why books like One Day and The Time Traveler's Wife make me all wistful and emotive - I love representations of people who work so well together, but it does also get the Romantic Ideal Gland pumping into my brains and causing all sorts of mischief.


Speaking of which, that bed's not go to mess itself, so I had better make that cup of tea & get me head down. If you want to start poking around my internets, you can do no worse than to start at:
http://www.wix.com/mrjohnmacleod/music
There's links to all my other nonsenses from there. In the meantime, I hope you are well and I will speak to you soon. On YouTube, no doubt!

Goodnight,
John.xx

Buckets Of Optimism

Hello, sit down, pull up a chair and have an Ovaltine. I had rather hoped that I would write these blogs with the frequency of a Guardian columnist, banging out paragraph after paragraph of sarcasm-strewn prose like a sheep-shearer discarding wool, but inspection seems to reveal that I'm a one-blog-a-month kind of chap. That's ok, I suppose, I can live with that.

I have suffered with something of a Monday Blues malaise today, as if everything I have done has sort of taken more force than usual to do. My brain is working on a hundred and one things that I would like to get going & done, whilst my time is taken up with other things that make it impossible to kickstart projects.

I have found that it doesn't take much to have me extremely busy, and in the space of a few weeks I have set up bundles of things that need updating & tweaking. The first one is my YouTube channel, http://www.youtube.com/mrjohnmacleod, which I am keeping fed with a few demoes every so often & a series entitled, modestly, "John MacLeod Speaks To The Internet", which I intend to keep up on a weekly basis. The intention is for you to ask me a question or two (about anything, music or whimsy) and I will answer it, and at the end, play a song inspired by one or more of your questions. I am sure there will be the odd holiday from it, as one couldn't keep it going for weeks on end, but it's nevertheless something I intend to keep up.

I have also been meddling with my website and made a version of it that is accessible on mobiles. So now, if you go to http://www.wix.com/mrjohnmacleod.music, if you're reading this on a smartphone, that is, you'll be whisked to my page, instead of an error message telling you that Flash is no installed on your phone. Swanky, eh?

So they are my plugs. Take some time to investigate them while I hop downstairs and make myself a cuppa. Back in a mo.

I have returned, with tea! Did you enjoy the links? There will be questions later, so don't think you've gotten away with a mere cursory glance! I'm sure you have questions for me, too - ones that, were you to ask me on my YouTube "show", would sound like "Why have you set these things up?" or "What makes you so relentless in your pursuit of getting us to listen to you?" And the answer, my friends, is optimism.

The Artrix Theatre, Bromsgrove, http://www.artrix.co.uk/

I was lucky enough, recently, to be asked by my friend Jack to play as support for his band, Our Mutual Friend, at the Artrix Theatre in Bromsgrove. The gig happened on the last Sunday in July, and I should just say that they were brilliant. They filled about an hour and a half's entertainment almost effortlessly, were very entertaining, and were musically excellent and charming. As were the second support act, Lakota Sioux, who should also be checked out.

Now, I have a nasty habit. I don't know whether it's worse than picking your nose, stealing chewing gum or interfering with yourself on Tube station escalators, but it's a nasty habit nontheless, and it's this: I romantically idealise everything. Before I meet someone in town, I imagine how the night will be. When I go to anything, I picture the ideal outcome in my head & am often left slightly jaded when it doesn't pan out exactly that way. It's a silly thing & I'm often pretty good at turning it off these days. However there is one niche aspect of my life where this always happens: concerts. When I'm about to play a gig, I want it to be perfect. Everyone listens, everyone laughs, everyone becomes a part of this intimate half-hour of me & my songs. It is, for the most part, an unrealistic expectation and should, realistically, have a halt called to it, but it happens every time.

Which isn't to say I don't like the unexpected moments that happen when I am behind a microphone. (My subconscious recalls a gig about which I wrote on this very blog, in which I was heckled in Fenton by three drunkards, and also the time I was playing an open mic & whilst playing the outro to "I Didn't Mean To Fall For You" a man stepped right up to me and shouted in my ear: "WHILE YOU'RE PLAYING THAT, CAN YOU TELL EVERYONE ABOUT AN OPEN MIC I RUN ON THE FIRST MONDAY OF THE MONTH IN MOW COP?!" Bafflingly, I obliged.) But there are times when all a chap wants is for everyone to listen. This is the circumstance I pray for and so very rarely get. I recently played my regular open mic & got so frustrated and the level of noise in the place that I shouted my way through all my songs, I suddenly could not sing them.

And so, in the run-up to the Artrix show, I battled the "Ideal" that my brain was presenting to me, scared stiff of having to face disappointment on a larger scale, but this proved to be the one occasion where the expectations of my demanding head were actually met.

It was delightful - the best day ever. Some of my friends came to see the show too (and drive us there & back, which makes them the Heroes Of The Day), and to have their company for an afternoon made me up something rotten. I went in to soundcheck at half-past five and was greeted by so many personable people. The stage crew, sound technicians, theatre staff, the bands - all were super-polite & friendly. There was much setting up happening for the bands, so while they were busy, I took the opportunity to put flyers on all the seats. I did well, too, and was chatting with Jack as I did my dirty promo work.
"We wondered whether we should put leaflets out, but we figured everyone who's coming knows us, as they'll all be from here," he said, "which isn't an advantage you have when you've come from Stoke."
"True," I said, and then felt a tickle in my head that said there was a point coming, "You know why I do this?" I asked.
"Why?"
"Optimism. For someone to do music like this, either alone or in a band, you need buckets of optimism, and you need to cling onto it despite the disappointments that inevitably happen when you're a musician. If I assume that no one would take a leaflet so as to find me on Twitter or Facebook, and therefore don't bother, no one will ever hear of me. If I plaster the place with flyers and just one person takes a leaflet and gets in touch with me on the internet to say they enjoyed my gig and do I have any recordings, then my day is made. It was worth it." I was starting to feel a bit evangelical at this point, so I clammed up & carried on leafleting.

A selection of my promotional handiwork

I did my soundcheck and played some covers in different styles (I do some fingerpicky, some strumming, and one song on my other DADGAD-tuned guitar), and the sound technicians praised my main guitar, agreeing with me that there is very little that one needs to do with it once plugged in (I'm not kidding, you could plug it into an ear trumpet connected by some showertubing and a box of cow manure and it would still sound like it was being played in Heaven by a man with glory for fingers), then retired to a dressing room (THERE WERE DRESSING ROOMS) and popped into the bathroom (THE DRESSING ROOM HAD A BATHROOM) and whilst in there, two things happened:
1. I noticed a shower in there. No cubicle, just a shower and a drain in the floor to collect the water. Fleetwood Mac would have loved it.
2. A voice boomed over the PA that said "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO TAKE YOUR SEATS, JOHN MACLEOD WILL BE ONSTAGE IN FIVE MINUTES."
This shit just got real, folks.

My two favourite things about the gig were walking onstage, and walking off, as both were done to applause, which feels completely different in a theatre compared to in a pub. Something about the way the building absorbs the sound, and the silence that usually abides in the auditorium just focusses it to a far greater degree. My first few songs were lively, and the fourth was "Imagine If We Fell In Love", and as it started, the tech guys tweaked the lights so that they went from red to blue, in order to accentuate the atmosphere. At this point, if it would have been possible to put down my guitar, climb to the back of the theatre and hug them, I would have. But it would have ruined their work.

In between songs I told one or two stories (including my amazement at the dressing room shower, and also mentioning the back pocket of chewing gum I had discovered the day before - "You don't often pay to hear someone tell you they're wearing dirty trousers, do you?" to which a voice from the audience cried "Yes!"), and there were plenty of appreciative chuckles in those moments, even the one where I played the opening chord of a song about seventeen times because I kept interrupting my train of thought with something equally silly. As Jack's dad said after the show, "He did say you could talk..."

But I came away from that knowing I had found my ideal style of gig. Theatres are more home to the subtleties and nuances of concerts, the small moments where you bare some of the inner workings of your soul to everyone in a song, then relax the atmosphere again with a dry witticism. In a pub, unless you're very lucky, it is ALL about entertaining, and competing with the games of snooker, the loud conversations, the drinkers - there is little room for subtlety unless you are lucky enough to hold the attention of 75% of the room. In a theatre, the gig becomes a small showcase for you. This does not mean you don't have to entertain, far from it, but you entertain on your own terms - that forty minutes was MY forty minutes to do MY set, as opposed to bending somewhat to the pubs will (or fighting it, some nights), and it was fun, beautiful, exciting and thrilling.

And thoughts of that night, gentle reader, has been carrying me through the last three weeks. I do so very much love playing songs, and I hope I can gether all of you into one place one day & sing at you, not to mention talk utter bobbins with you, as I hope it would be fun for us all. You'd be appreciative, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you?

In the meantime, someone in my neighbourhood has been letting off fireworks, and initially I was wondering if it would turn into a fetching display which I could watch from my bedroom window. It never happened, and instead there was a series of staccato bangs and it all went quiet. Ah well.

I will bid you adieu until whatever day of September I next choose to update this lengthy text-portal of nonsense, and I hope you have enjoyed reading it. But before I go, I told you that there would be questions based on my links, didn't I? So find below the questions, and there may be prizes for the first set of correct answers (no cheating, there!)
1. What are the precise contents of the Media Room?
2. To whom do I recommend you in the top right corner of the home page?
3. How long is John Macleod Speaks To The Internet, Episode One?
4. In Episode Two, what colour is my wristband?
5. Which of my influential musicians is 3rd from bottom of the list?
6. On the wix.com site, what is criteria number three on the list of reasons to contact me?

Answer those questions and see what you could win!
Until next time, chaps & chapesses, take care.
John.xx

A Musical Catherine Wheel

It's raining. Audibly. It has been doing this all day, and it comes with a feeling that pervades my entire consciousness, which is, I suspect, the reason I've been putting off this blog for the whole weekend. Almost like a character that my sister & I came up with recently, The Great Procrastinato, only moodier and wearing less silken robes. You would have to have been following my sister & I on Twitter at the time we thought this nonsense up, and if you looked back for it on our timelines you would have a lot of digging to do. Still, it made us laugh like idiots, and continues to entertain us, so, on the offchance he reoccurrs, follow us on twitter: @mrjohnmacleod & @rachaelsmac - even if the Great Procrastinato is rare (and let's face it, he can't always be bothered to show up), I would dare to say we're worth a follow anyway.

So: The Blog I Could Not Bring Myself To Write. Not for any particular reason, if I'm honest, just malaise. As I write this, I am accompanied by a mug of hot water. "WHHHAAAA...?" I hear you emote, "WHERE'S YOUR CUP OF TEA?" Truth is, I've been plagued by some world-class mouth ulcers. Seriously. They're where I must have bitten my tongue, because there's one on top or it & one underneath. They have been bugging me since just after the gig I did in Stafford last week. I could feel them coming, but they weren't officially mouth ulcers yet. So I've barely sung, my talking has been pained, to say the least, and I haven't been able to record anything because I will sound ridiculous until these have gone. I was able to do open mic this Wednesday gone, but playing onstage is a bit different to doing a recording. When you're at home, the adrenaline isn't really flowing & won't carry you through, so everytime you clearly hear a lisped 's' you know why it sounds off, whereas you won't ever listen back to the three songs you played for a free beer in a pub, and everyone else will be too pissed to notice.

Messing about at the hotel

I have just had a long weekend, the primary reason being that I was seeing Bright Eyes at the Manchester Academy, and had travelled down & booked a hotel, and tramped round the city like the Manchester-loving person I am. I had intended to sit down and write up all my excited thoughts & impressions immediately after the concert, but by the time I arrived back at my digs, I had spent approximately four and a half hours walking then a further three hours standing still, and my legs just wanted a lie down (as did the rest of my body, come to think of it).

Right. First things first. The gig.

Usually, what tends to happen when someone writes about a gig they went to is that they'll gush about the things that were great, then absolutely pull the rest of it to pieces. Well, this is what I have found, anyway. I shall attempt to do things in reverse, and talk about what narked me right off before being all effusive.

It only comes down to one thing, really: THE WANKERS. And, to be fair, there were about three. At the front, at least. The entire back half of the room seemed to be a dedicated bunch of self-interested bastards who KEPT. TALKING. In between songs, this chorus of loud conversation just echoed from the back of the room, and had I been onstage I might have tried to launch a few questions their way, or maybe shared a joke with the front half (who were, for the massive majority, attentive) about how rude the back half were being, and how it wouldn't matter me saying so, because they weren't listening anyway.

The three people in our half of the room repeatedly shouted for Bright Eyes songs, regardless of the fact that the band were quite obviously working through a SETLIST. There are acts who are quite obliging when someone calls out for a song (I can be if someone shouts out at the right time), but it has to be the right time to do so. If you continually bellow "PERFECT SONNET!" every ten picoseconds, then it's going to be short shrift for you, Sonny-Jim. And never mind the guy four along from my right, who kept SCREAMING: "CONOR!" Occasionally changing his tack and going for the more involved "CONOR! OBERST! IS THE GREATEST! SONGWRITER! OF OUR GENERATION!"

Oh, give it a fucking rest, mate.

He did mix things up a little by shouting for Bright Eyes songs, then went further leftfield by shouting for Seven Nation Army by the White Stripes, because he was so funny.

An award should go, though, for the guy who came and stood right in front of me as Bright Eyes started. Not content with scuffing the toes of my Converse with the heels of his feet (ie; standing on them), he proceeded to freak out throughout the concert, shaking his head violently, leaning backwards suddenly to sing along & point nonsensically at the stage (forcing me to lean back also, lest he bat me in the face with his stupid cranium), and leaning right in my field of vision in order to snog his girlfriend.

So that's the stuff that grated on me. Now for the good stuff.

Jenny and Johnny - excellent support for Bright Eyes

I arrived at the Academy (Academy 1 - the big one that you don't need to race up three flights of stairs for!) as the support act, Jenny And Johnny, were playing. I don't think I missed too much and they were excellent. Quite a healthy continual swapping of instruments, which is something I always love to see - bass, guitars, keyboards, passed round from one song to the next, and each played with high levels of versatility and skill. And the harmonies - oh, good harmonies are so necessary and can lift a song from good to heart-soaringly majestic. A lot of people will cite Girls Aloud as being good pop, and I sort of see why - yes, the songs are catchy, but stop for two seconds and think - how many people have stopped you and said "What the hell are these songs about? They're NONSENSE!", but the main gripe for me is that there are five of them. Are any of them singing a harmony? No, they're all singing the same melody. Doesn't that seem wasteful to you? Do me a favour, and find a copy of the song 'Sing For Your Supper' by Cathy Davey - by the end of that song you're ready to burst out those harmony lines at the top of your lungs whilst crying at the sheer majesty & beauty of it all. THAT'S what music can do.

Bright Eyes take the stage

Um, yes, so Jenny And Johnny were good. The crowd dispersed a little in the interval, and I made my way to near the front. I was still a few 'rows' back, but I was near enough. Eventually the lights dimmed a little & band members made their way onstage, then 'Old Soul Song (For The New World Order)' kicked in. As the set progressed, I didn't know whether I was surprised or not at what a ball of energy Conor Oberst is onstage. I've always been guilty of assuming that Bright Eyes is Oberst writing & recording under that moniker, but the more I've thought about it, people like Nate Walcott and certainly Mike Mogis make the band as much as he does. Granted, Oberst is the centre of it all, they are his songs after all, but everyone brings their production & musical skills to the records and the live shows, and never was it more apparent to me than here.

Oberst wheeled around the stage during instrumental breaks, like a musical catherine wheel, and also during songs, had a catalogue of subtle hand-based mimes to go with certain lyrics, which I'm sure were not just for showmanship, but also a handy mnemonic tool for remembering lyrics. If you have listened to Bright Eyes before, you'll know that he is among the wordiest of contemporary songwriters, so a small gesture for "as the cylinder rolls" as part of a song's routine does not seem out of place.

I didn't take many photos (many people practically watched the concert through their camera screens!) and this was my favourite.

One of my favourite parts of the night was towards the end, when introducing the band. Conor worked his way around the stage, giving a a few choice facts about each band member, before encouraging everyone to go nuts for that person while the whole band played four or five bars of a riff, culminating in him encouraging us to then go nuts for the stage crew and, finally, ourselves. It was a lovely piece of showmanship. Then there was a rousing rendition of "One For You, One For Me", ending with the same recording that ends 'The People's Key' (the album that they're touring). It was a wonderful show, and as the lights came up, I actually saw, all starry-eyed and pleasantly ringing of ear, the chap I was supposed to be meeting there in the first place!

What else happened on this long weekend, then?

Precious little, in all honesty. The Thursday & the Friday were spent exploring Manchester, and ignoring my complaining limbs as I walked the crap out of them. My arrival in Manchester was, as it has always been, a thrilling stroll out of Piccadilly Station, towards the city centre, and wondering if I'd be able to find my hotel without the usual desperate two-hour walk before giving up & getting a taxi (Sheffield has always been the bane of my life for finding places & things - I have become lost & tearful on every visit). This time, finding my hotel was such a swift & painless affair ("I'll just walk down this street and get my beari...OH! IT'S THERE!"), that the time I'd factored into finding was immediately redundant, and I was an hour early for check-in. The staff at The Britannia kindly looked after my bags in the interim, so I swaggered off & killed an hour by finding my way to the Academy venue & back.

Manchester Metropolitan University is right by the Academy, and is the university from which I graduated. Alas, I did not go to any of the Manchester-based campi (I stayed at home and studied in Alsager at their Arts & Design faculty there), but nevertheless I felt proud to be walking past a university and thinking "Yes, I am an almnus of this place." Had I studied in Manchester itself, doubtless I would be living there by now & alot would be different, but on the other hand, I dodged an inevitable overhanging debt and I wouldn't have had any of the experiences that make me who I am now, so regret, as they say, is a mug's game.

I had arrived in Manchester on graduation day, and it was rather touching & sentimental to see graduating students from all over the world, dressed in their gowns & mortarboards, talking excitedly to their parents, relatives and boyfriends/girlfriends. It's always nice to see life happening - the positive, life-affirming moments, and not just people desperate to keep moving, ignoring things around them, or arguing. Good days happen, life is kind, and I was having two such days right there.

My hotel room doorway.  The room was lovely, just not the door.

I got back to the hotel and had a cup of tea and a sit-down, helping myself to the first of two cups of tea. I found a double-bill of Only Fools & Horses on the TV, chuckled a bit, and noted that from the window of my hotel room (which was, incidentally, right by a stairwell and jarred considerably with the lavish reception & hallways), I could see the coach station to which I had walked all those years ago in 1998, after having my wallet stolen before going to the Apollo to see Neil Finn on his first solo tour. There is a blog about that somewhere, which I will repost if it's not here already.

The day after Bright Eyes, I went to the music shop I had failed to find the previous day (well, I did find it in the end, but one whole hour after it had shut, so I returned during opening hours), and nosed around the guitars & acoutrements. I followed this with a meal at Gourmet Burger Kitchen, which is on Manchester's riverside, near the new building complex on the edge of Salford. It was a delightful meal, the staff all very friendly (although still with that traditional catering skill of asking how your food is, just as you've taken a big mouthful), and the restaurant's in-house stereo not only played The Cure's 'Friday I'm In Love' (reminder - it was Friday & I was also in love with everything that day), but also played 'It's Only Natural' by Crowded House. There were other magic tunes too, so I loved that restaurant.

From thence, I paid a visit to the People's Museum, which documents the struggle of the working classes to acquire the vote, the prices paid, and the formation of unions, all the way to the present day achievements of shorter working hours, time off and soforth. As is often the case with visits to places like this, my fact retention is always somewhat lacking, but it was both good & interesting to get a feel for the events of over 300 or so years ago. I'm good at understanding the concept of those times, leading up to now, even if I couldn't tell you specifics!

Eventually, the time came to bid farewell to Manchester and head home. The hotel had stowed my bags after I checked out, which gave me license to roam the city unencumbered, and was a relief, as I had imagined all the above-mentioned meals & trips taking place with me lugging bags about, knocking things over, and generally leaving chaos in my wake. I was thankful that this was not the case. As I boarded the train and watched Manchester escape from my clutches, it started raining. It didn't stop raining until fairly recently (it is now Thursday - I have been not finishing this blog for DAYS now), and that rain, as I mentioned at the start, sank into my heart & refused to be expunged from it until today, which is, coincidentally, the first day that the interminable mouth ulcers stopped being a restrictive burden. So all in all, things are getting good.

And with that tale of music & exploration now wrapped up neatly, I shall bid you adieu. It has been love to share these events with you, now exactly a week after they happened, and I hope you enjoyed reading them. In FACT, I hope you read them at all. Until next time,

TARA,

John.xx