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

Arborial Labour and Open Mic Etiquette for Beginners

I hate my hedge. And my garden, come to think of it. Well, not hate so much "don't have time for". I don't hate flora & fauna at all, and some of my most favoured memories have occurred in picturesque gardens so peaceful as to make you wonder whether you'd gone deaf, were you to experience them.

No, my trouble is just maintenance. Endless, bloody maintenance that instead of enjoying, I force myself to think of the things I could be doing instead of sweating it out with hedge trimmers, a broom and a bin-bag. Making a cup of tea, listening to the radio, writing or recording a song, strumming my favourite cover of the week (this week: Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac), going for a walk with my mp3 player jammed into my ears, making time zip past at three times its normal pace on Facebook/Twitter/PlayStation 3, sticking a white-hot knitting needle in my ears - all of these hobbies are, to me, infinitely more satisfying than arborial labour.

That said, I have managed to fit an awful lot into this weekend. In fact, the whole week has been jam-packed (if anyone knows the derivation of this phrase, I would love for you to enlighten me - comment/tweet/Facebook/e-mail me with your knowledge or theories!). I went to Birmingham with my Dead Radio Society friend Matt Tyrer to a pub called The Station, meeting up with his bandmate Sam Hayler, and Ania Maxwell, Kate Wilkins, John Bell & Rosemary Pearce (lovely people all) for the open mic night that takes place there every Thursday. It was a great night, the company was superb & the music first rate. There was a peculiar moment during my song "Imagine If We Fell In Love", where I looked down, and just happened to notice the tiniest of money-spiders slip between two floorboards. It's so very odd when you see something so tiny amid a big room full of people. Well, not so much full but populated.

By the way folks, especially the musicians among you, Open Mic Etiquette Tip: DON'T just piss off once you've played your set. I fully appreciate that some people may travel great distances or have to leave for a specific reason, but you know what musicians respect? Respect. Yes, that's right. We love to play to a full room of attentive people, and cannot bear an empty room or a bar full of beered-up gibbons bellowing over the PA. So it was baffling to see someone get up & announce to the assembled throng that he really wanted to become a part of the "Birmingham music scene", then proceed to play his songs, finish his pint and leave without stopping to listen to what the Birmingham music scene had to offer.

(Admittedly, half the Birmingham Music Scene that night came from outside the area, but we'll ignore that.)

 

This week I also completed my first home demo of a song called 'Sea Glass', which you can listen to either on my Facebook page (http://www.facebook.com/mrjohnmacleod) or my actual website (http://www.wix.com/mrjohnmacleod/music - this site is currently flash-only, just so you know). It was great to finally start experimenting with sounds again after a long time with no access to my eight-track recorder, and doing my own drumming on a record was magic & exciting. My previous recordings have had me programming the drums on a machine, which is ok in terms of it being fairly quick, structured and mistake-free, but you hear the difference & it lacks that je ne sais quoi. The kernel of the song was inspired by my friend Chrissy, who collects sea glass (as I may have mentioned before), and the concept of it just resonated with the notion of life in general, how we're all drifting through life & constantly getting refined over & over & over again, and hopefully being collected by someone who loves us for what we've become. Followed by four minutes of fuzz bass & E-bow. [variety club drum-fill]

What else happened this week? I saw Matt, Sam & Ed Moseley (three quarters of Dead Radio Society - Google them!) play a set at an event called Piccadilly Circus (which takes place in Hanley, Stoke-on -Trent). They were immediately after a band daft enough to turn up without cymbal stands, so the whole event got set back forty minutes while the drummer drove back home to get them, necessitating in the following bands getting their sets cut. Still, Dead Radio Society did a lovely set, despite the efforts of local drunks dancing in front of them & attempting to engage them in conversation. During songs.
 

I went to a fancy dress party straight afterwards, dressed as the Fourth Doctor (Tom Baker, in case any of you were about about jump on Google), which was a bit cheeky seeing as the theme for my friend Sophie's birthday party was computer games, but I did some tenuous research & discovered that a game had been released on the Amiga in 1992 in which the Fourth Doctor was a playable character, so I was ok. I wonder how they animated the scarf? Actually, a better question would be: I wonder if they animated the scarf? Ed made a much better effort than me, making a costume for Mortal Kombat's thunder god, Raiden that was really quite excellent. It was a jolly fun night, although I am surprised that I drank my entire bottle of wine over the course of it. I don't usually drink wine, and when on beer I keep it to a couple of pints if possible, so this morning's headache was an interesting cranial vice experience. Two bacon sarnies, paracetamol & a cup of tea while listening to Dave Gorman was enough to ease it right off though, at which point I had to start to think about cutting the damned hedge.

See, the thing I dislike about this hedge (I know - what kind of digressive skills have I employed to get us back to where we started?!), is its sneakiness. Last time I cut it was sometime around late Summer/early Autumn, and it didn't grow until Spring, but it didn't just grow, it was as if someone underground pulled a lever & it went from "sparse" to "WOAHH!" in under a week, timing so perfectly that whenever I had a window of opportunity to cut it back down, it rained solidly for entire weekends or, even worse, so sporadically that I kept getting caught in it when stepping outside with the shears, thinking it to be safe.

I would love a nice-looking rear area (stop it) that didn't require me to pull weeds out of it (no really, stop) & strategically rearrange pebbles so that fragments of tarpaulin are well-covered, but so far that is not going to happen. For now I will just have to keep an eye on it & force myself to trim regularly.

Well, I have barked madly at you for long enough. My cup of tea is finished & bedtime fast approaches. There are many interesting things afoot that I dearly want to tell you all about, but for now I must keep it to small talk & chatter. In the meantime, I am supporting the band NEMO this Wednesday at The Grapes in Stafford at about 8pm, so get in early to catch me doing some acoustickery & banter, and keep checking on my site & Facebook for any demoes that I post. I do want to do another couple this week in perparation for my gig in Bromsgrove's Artrix Theatre at the end of the month, which I hope you can all come to, on Sunday 31st July. I will be mentioning this gig alot, just so you know. [smiley-face]

In the meantime, goodnight, sleep well, and listen to lots of good music as I have been doing. (Liam Finn's new record FOMO, Cathy Davey's excellent The Nameless, Emmy the Great's sublime Virtue, Nerina Pallot's exceptional Year Of The Wolf and Lykke Li's Wounded Rhymes have all soundtracked my week).
Goodnight all.
John.x