I'm not very good at love.
I've always thought I was, but all the evidence points otherwise. I'd like to believe that I'm the Henry DeTamble, the steady reassuring force that gives someone the will and confidence to enjoy life, and who receives the same in kind, while in reality, I am Charlie Brown, holding on to the crayon left behind by the Little Red-Haired Girl, watching a world of possibilities rise and fall in front of him.
I'd love for that to be the limit of my skills, but you can also add "Standing idly by while people leave" to my CV.
The other day, I was in a shop while Al Green's "Love Is A Beautiful Thing" played over the PA, and caught myself thinking, for the first time ever, "No it isn't, it's utter crap!" - the expectation of those who are not yet loved, the crippling panic, the loneliness it causes in its absence. Thanks, but you can keep it, reverend.
There is nothing like the emotional surge when you meet someone you like, who stands out from everyone else in the room. Every time you're in the same room as them, there's an electricity, an elevation in the senses, and you'd do anything to put a smile on that person's face and make them happy.
When that expectation nosedives into a bout of unrequited love, however, it knocks you sick. There is, equally, nothing quite like that feeling either. The aching sadness of one more special person in the world who doesn't like you 'like that' is a lead weight, no matter how philosophical you try to be, no matter how much you proclaim (as true as it genuinely is) that you're glad to know that person.
And so you plod on, waiting for that exchanged moment of eye contact that could conduct lightning, hoping for a moment that sets the process off all over again, trying to be nonchalant (and occasionally failing).
I don't know what I want out of life, I'm pretty sure it doesn't involve being a father, I'm also pretty sure it does involve music, but I'm heartsick now. I've had enough. My heart's had enough. I'd be happy to keep going as I am and not have a care in the world, but that old loneliness stabs at my core whenever I have an unguarded moment (which occurs quite a lot, what with my head being in the clouds and such), and it can't be fought at every turn. I just have to walk on and swallow down this empty ache every five steps.
Mourning the past, enjoying the present, worrying about the future. Why change old habits?
Tuesday, 3 December 2013
Monday, 2 December 2013
Yes, December...
So, it would seem December has arrived. Jolly good.
I am not, as I may have documented once or twice (I've written about so much nonsense since I started this thing that I forget what topics I've covered and what I haven't), a fan of the wintery months. As soon as the night sets in before you clock off from work & the leaves start dropping, the rest of the world can bugger off while I huddle in my living room and eat biscuits. Them's the rules. Since the band's gotten together, I have been a mite more productive, but the rule stays more or less the same.
This weekend, I saw December in with some friends, which was a jolly way to do it, it must be said. We went to the ATP music festival, held at Pontins in Camber Sands. Matt (from my band) and our friends Sam, John and Rose (along with many other folk along the way) have been going to the bi-annual festivals for years, and have a wealth of previous experience to look back on and compare notes, whereas I've been to this one and the one before it, back in May.
I am really into the idea of a music festival being held somewhere entirely indoors. I am not one of life's "outdoorsy" people, so to jump into a big building with stages upstairs & downstairs is precisely how I'd like to do it. Prior to last year, ATP had been held at Butlins in Minehead, which I am told was a far more preferable experience, with four stages and electricity you didn't have to pay for. Yes, as we struggled into our chalets following a four-and-a-half hour drive, we were greeted with a distinct chill and complete darkness, which then resulted in Sam (from Matt's band, Dead Radio Society) popping over to the shop to buy credit for the meter. (I imagine this goes down really well with people coming to have actual week-long holidays there - three days-worth robbed £15 off us).
This weekend's music was, by comparison, a far cry from the sheer variety of bands on offer in May. Last time I attended, I was treated to CSS, TV On The Radio, Doseone, De La Soul, Unknown Mortal Orchestra, Tinariwen, Lone Cub & Wolf and Antibalas, plus much more besides! Hip-hop, rock, rap, electronica, there was plenty on offer. This time, I'm sad to say, was somewhat more one-note. If I was going to shorten the pickings to one term, I would say "microphone-lite".
I really enjoyed Civil Civic, Braids (they had a vocalist & lyrics!), The Magic Band and Mogwai - who ended the whole weekend, and had everything else not been so heavily instrumental, I might have stayed for more of their set. As it was, they didn't stand out as much as they might have done, because so much of what was on offer was electronica and non-vocal music.
Now, I am back at home, my suitcase is awaiting a firm unpacking, and I have eaten a dinner. The joy of time away with friends vanishes almost as suddenly as it arrives, and the mundane appears from behind a curtain, reminding you that it's almost the end of the year, and that all the stuff you want to get done won't happen, because who's going to have time in the run-up to the Festives? How those people get through December with an "I LOVE CHRISTMAS, ME" grin perma-taped to their faces is a mystery I will never solve. You can keep the long nights, the stress of finding "The Perfect Present", the late nights trying to do all the things you usually do on top of the extra stuff. You can keep the hand-freezing temperatures, the uncertain safety of the pavements, the biting winds.
JUST GIVE ME DAYLIGHT UNTIL 9PM AND I'LL BE FINE. MOSTLY.
Hmm. Yes, well I could rabbit on a bit more about the joys of living alone & feeling a bit lost and frustrated while the world turns inexorably on, but I don't think that will make for an interesting read. It does mean there are things to cogitate on for the next time I sit down and slap my keyboard like an excitable word-monkey.
In the meantime, have a lovely week, take care of yourselves, and let's all get through winter together, eh? We can do it.
Speak soon,
Love,
John xx
PS: The fans amongst you will have noticed that the title of this blog entry looks awfully like a song by Nerina Pallot. That's because it is one. Here's a rather lovely performance of it, which was recorded by my friend Jenny:
I am not, as I may have documented once or twice (I've written about so much nonsense since I started this thing that I forget what topics I've covered and what I haven't), a fan of the wintery months. As soon as the night sets in before you clock off from work & the leaves start dropping, the rest of the world can bugger off while I huddle in my living room and eat biscuits. Them's the rules. Since the band's gotten together, I have been a mite more productive, but the rule stays more or less the same.
This weekend, I saw December in with some friends, which was a jolly way to do it, it must be said. We went to the ATP music festival, held at Pontins in Camber Sands. Matt (from my band) and our friends Sam, John and Rose (along with many other folk along the way) have been going to the bi-annual festivals for years, and have a wealth of previous experience to look back on and compare notes, whereas I've been to this one and the one before it, back in May.
I am really into the idea of a music festival being held somewhere entirely indoors. I am not one of life's "outdoorsy" people, so to jump into a big building with stages upstairs & downstairs is precisely how I'd like to do it. Prior to last year, ATP had been held at Butlins in Minehead, which I am told was a far more preferable experience, with four stages and electricity you didn't have to pay for. Yes, as we struggled into our chalets following a four-and-a-half hour drive, we were greeted with a distinct chill and complete darkness, which then resulted in Sam (from Matt's band, Dead Radio Society) popping over to the shop to buy credit for the meter. (I imagine this goes down really well with people coming to have actual week-long holidays there - three days-worth robbed £15 off us).
This weekend's music was, by comparison, a far cry from the sheer variety of bands on offer in May. Last time I attended, I was treated to CSS, TV On The Radio, Doseone, De La Soul, Unknown Mortal Orchestra, Tinariwen, Lone Cub & Wolf and Antibalas, plus much more besides! Hip-hop, rock, rap, electronica, there was plenty on offer. This time, I'm sad to say, was somewhat more one-note. If I was going to shorten the pickings to one term, I would say "microphone-lite".
I really enjoyed Civil Civic, Braids (they had a vocalist & lyrics!), The Magic Band and Mogwai - who ended the whole weekend, and had everything else not been so heavily instrumental, I might have stayed for more of their set. As it was, they didn't stand out as much as they might have done, because so much of what was on offer was electronica and non-vocal music.
Now, I am back at home, my suitcase is awaiting a firm unpacking, and I have eaten a dinner. The joy of time away with friends vanishes almost as suddenly as it arrives, and the mundane appears from behind a curtain, reminding you that it's almost the end of the year, and that all the stuff you want to get done won't happen, because who's going to have time in the run-up to the Festives? How those people get through December with an "I LOVE CHRISTMAS, ME" grin perma-taped to their faces is a mystery I will never solve. You can keep the long nights, the stress of finding "The Perfect Present", the late nights trying to do all the things you usually do on top of the extra stuff. You can keep the hand-freezing temperatures, the uncertain safety of the pavements, the biting winds.
JUST GIVE ME DAYLIGHT UNTIL 9PM AND I'LL BE FINE. MOSTLY.
Hmm. Yes, well I could rabbit on a bit more about the joys of living alone & feeling a bit lost and frustrated while the world turns inexorably on, but I don't think that will make for an interesting read. It does mean there are things to cogitate on for the next time I sit down and slap my keyboard like an excitable word-monkey.
In the meantime, have a lovely week, take care of yourselves, and let's all get through winter together, eh? We can do it.
Speak soon,
Love,
John xx
PS: The fans amongst you will have noticed that the title of this blog entry looks awfully like a song by Nerina Pallot. That's because it is one. Here's a rather lovely performance of it, which was recorded by my friend Jenny:
Monday, 4 November 2013
Replacement Fanta Service
Well, there goes my plan to write at least a couple of blog entries a month...
It's always been the custom that I write my cranial noodlings with a hot cup of tea at my side, but I've fallen victim to Winteritis (you know the condition, when you come home from work and instead of going out and buying milk, you bolt the door, make yourself comfortable, and are hidden from the world until 8am the next morning) and as such, I haven't bought any milk. I could have some green tea, but I'm never totally convinced by the taste, and trying to clean the residue from your mug makes you wonder what the hell's in it.
So I've got Fanta.
It's not the same, quite honestly. (Excuse me while I just go and get a fleecey jacket.)
I'm back. It's evidently been so long since I did this, as I am continually hitting the comma whenever I try and type an 'm'. Is that common for someone who uses a computer on a daily basis, yet hasn't used it for blogging? I must ask around (unless you want to do it for me, of course).
This fleecey jacket is well snug, especially for something I bought by accident. Well, I say accident, what actually happened was I was looking for a coat, and on the page I was viewing, this looked like a coat. So I ordered it, it arrived, it was a zippy-top, really, but a very warm one, albeit not what I was looking for. I spent a full 24 hours preparing myself for the rigmarole of returning the poor thing, but no - I like it too much, and it replaces something I'm about to get rid of anyway, so... I kept it. Anyway I've got a coat, a lovely winter coat, I don't know what I was thinking!
Much like when I elected to stop in and not buy milk.
So what was I up to when I last wrote? (I'm stooping low enough to have a scan through my last entry now. Has it come to this? Ah, ok, it was September, for the band's birthday. I didn't think I'd written that recently!) We've had some nice little shows since we turned 1. All electric shows, for which Matt surprised us all with a quite frankly stunning new musical instrument. It's safe to say he's enjoyed all our shows what we've played in the last 12 months, but it's nothing compared to the delight he's experienced with a keytar. Yep! Most would scoff or scorn at the idea of a keytar (indeed, he's the only person I know of who plays one), but it fits. He's more relaxed onstage, he engages more with us and the audience (at our last show, he turned off one of my guitar pedals during 'I've Still Got Your Blood On My Curtains', the japester), and the songs sound more focused as a result. Never dismiss a keytar out of hand, is my advice to you.
At a gig the previous week, we really bonded with an audience member. The poor sod had been steadily drinking, so by our second (and last) set of the night, he was quite well-oiled. I dedicated the song to anyone "who has lived in a terraced house next to permanently bonking neighbours during an intense bout of sexual frustration..." when this guy raised his hands skyward** and bellowed "SEXUAL FRUSTRATION, WOOOO!"
It took a full two days before I realised how that was more of an insight than he might have intended. I could not stop laughing.
New folks have moved in to the house that has been gloriously empty for a few months. There are people living either side now, neither are especially noisy, which is a blessing. I had a bit of a scare last night when they started playing dance music, much as tonight when someone, somewhere, started letting off fireworks, but that all seems to have died down a bit now. At least there's no awkwardness like there was with my erstwhile ever-shagging neighbours, like the time a letter for them got delivered to me by mistake, so I knocked on, and the boyfriend looked out of the upstairs window and said "Down in a minute!" and then answered the door in clothes that can only be described as "I picked these up off the floor just now, to prevent my opening the door whilst naked" (woolly jumper, bermuda shorts, slippers, bed-hair). I think my mouth did a flappy thing as I handed over the parcel.
But then I seem to revel in awkwardness. I drew a cartoon this week, which is a representation of something that actually happened a couple of years or so ago, when boarding a rail replacement coach. Pretty much an exact transcript of the exchange is in this cartoon:
It still baffles me that in my eagerness to join in with these two laughing employees, cheerfully stowing away the passengers' bags, I thought "Yeah, say that, it'll really make them laugh!" Those three words were like a joviality vacuum. I'd like to say I've learned from it, but in truth, the opportunity to deaden the mood like that just hasn't arisen since.
I'm scrabbling for things to share now (presumably to put off another glass of Fanta), like some hapless idiot who doesn't communicate for weeks on end, then tries to cram everything he knows into a conversation over a cuppa. But I should probably just sign off, and let more things simmer, and perhaps wait until I have a definite point to make. In fact, I'll aim for the not-surfacing-until-tomorrow-morning.
Goodnight all, and stay tuned for more blogging!
John-to-tha-Mac-to-tha...
Okay I'm stopping now.
xx
*I wrote "brewing up" and instinctively glared at my empty Fanta glass, balefully.
**Or perhaps as Samson might have done when he was tied to the pillars.
It's always been the custom that I write my cranial noodlings with a hot cup of tea at my side, but I've fallen victim to Winteritis (you know the condition, when you come home from work and instead of going out and buying milk, you bolt the door, make yourself comfortable, and are hidden from the world until 8am the next morning) and as such, I haven't bought any milk. I could have some green tea, but I'm never totally convinced by the taste, and trying to clean the residue from your mug makes you wonder what the hell's in it.
So I've got Fanta.
It's not the same, quite honestly. (Excuse me while I just go and get a fleecey jacket.)
I'm back. It's evidently been so long since I did this, as I am continually hitting the comma whenever I try and type an 'm'. Is that common for someone who uses a computer on a daily basis, yet hasn't used it for blogging? I must ask around (unless you want to do it for me, of course).
This fleecey jacket is well snug, especially for something I bought by accident. Well, I say accident, what actually happened was I was looking for a coat, and on the page I was viewing, this looked like a coat. So I ordered it, it arrived, it was a zippy-top, really, but a very warm one, albeit not what I was looking for. I spent a full 24 hours preparing myself for the rigmarole of returning the poor thing, but no - I like it too much, and it replaces something I'm about to get rid of anyway, so... I kept it. Anyway I've got a coat, a lovely winter coat, I don't know what I was thinking!
Much like when I elected to stop in and not buy milk.
So what was I up to when I last wrote? (I'm stooping low enough to have a scan through my last entry now. Has it come to this? Ah, ok, it was September, for the band's birthday. I didn't think I'd written that recently!) We've had some nice little shows since we turned 1. All electric shows, for which Matt surprised us all with a quite frankly stunning new musical instrument. It's safe to say he's enjoyed all our shows what we've played in the last 12 months, but it's nothing compared to the delight he's experienced with a keytar. Yep! Most would scoff or scorn at the idea of a keytar (indeed, he's the only person I know of who plays one), but it fits. He's more relaxed onstage, he engages more with us and the audience (at our last show, he turned off one of my guitar pedals during 'I've Still Got Your Blood On My Curtains', the japester), and the songs sound more focused as a result. Never dismiss a keytar out of hand, is my advice to you.
At a gig the previous week, we really bonded with an audience member. The poor sod had been steadily drinking, so by our second (and last) set of the night, he was quite well-oiled. I dedicated the song to anyone "who has lived in a terraced house next to permanently bonking neighbours during an intense bout of sexual frustration..." when this guy raised his hands skyward** and bellowed "SEXUAL FRUSTRATION, WOOOO!"
It took a full two days before I realised how that was more of an insight than he might have intended. I could not stop laughing.
New folks have moved in to the house that has been gloriously empty for a few months. There are people living either side now, neither are especially noisy, which is a blessing. I had a bit of a scare last night when they started playing dance music, much as tonight when someone, somewhere, started letting off fireworks, but that all seems to have died down a bit now. At least there's no awkwardness like there was with my erstwhile ever-shagging neighbours, like the time a letter for them got delivered to me by mistake, so I knocked on, and the boyfriend looked out of the upstairs window and said "Down in a minute!" and then answered the door in clothes that can only be described as "I picked these up off the floor just now, to prevent my opening the door whilst naked" (woolly jumper, bermuda shorts, slippers, bed-hair). I think my mouth did a flappy thing as I handed over the parcel.
But then I seem to revel in awkwardness. I drew a cartoon this week, which is a representation of something that actually happened a couple of years or so ago, when boarding a rail replacement coach. Pretty much an exact transcript of the exchange is in this cartoon:
I'm scrabbling for things to share now (presumably to put off another glass of Fanta), like some hapless idiot who doesn't communicate for weeks on end, then tries to cram everything he knows into a conversation over a cuppa. But I should probably just sign off, and let more things simmer, and perhaps wait until I have a definite point to make. In fact, I'll aim for the not-surfacing-until-tomorrow-morning.
Goodnight all, and stay tuned for more blogging!
John-to-tha-Mac-to-tha...
Okay I'm stopping now.
xx
*I wrote "brewing up" and instinctively glared at my empty Fanta glass, balefully.
**Or perhaps as Samson might have done when he was tied to the pillars.
Monday, 30 September 2013
How I Spent My Summer (or Happy Birthday, TJMB!)
This time last year, I was a bit nervous. For the first time in a very long time, I was about to gather some folks together and attempt to play music with them. I knew it was time to do it, I had done three years of solo acoustic troubadoring which is all very well if you are well-disposed to doing everything alone, but I'm not. Mostly.
I like my own space as much as the next man, and it's quite satisfying to write a song, sing it, and go "Yeah - I did that," but there's only so long until the novelty wears off. The train journeys with you, two acoustic guitars, a stand and two satchels are only worth doing once. Not the three times I did them.
And aside from anything else, how is one chap on his own supposed to find the time to do decent recordings of his songs that can live up to what's in his imagination?
And while we're about it, how is a lone fellow to get the attention of a crowd when he's playing in support of a band at very busy venue?
These things were rolling around my head after a glut of solo acoustic shows, all of which were fun, but also leaving me with a need for more. I wasn't living the musician's dream, I was half-living it. I wanted to make NOISE, I wanted to prove what sounds I was capable of making when allowed to work with a bunch of musicians, I wanted to plough my musical furrow and give a nod to the artists who had inspired me to stick at it and not give up.
I wanted, essentially, to not be alone in this. I needed the friendship and support that can only come from good people who wanted to do this with me.
At which point Matt, Angela & Paul enter the frame. This summer we've been working very hard at making our debut record, "Unexpected Sunshine". We started it in February, and then had intensive recording periods throughout March, April, June, July, August and September. Not one second of our recording time has been squandered, and we're excited and proud of what we've made so far. We really can't wait to share it with you, either.
There have been laughs and pure joy while making it, such as the really hot July afternoon that saw Matt consume four or five ice lollies and start chucking tubular bells, baroque organ and steel drums across the songs with gay abandon, which promptly caused him to run into the other room, giggling hysterically.
There have been curious emotional eddies tugging at us, too. All too well I remember the sessions that ended abruptly owing to time running out, right after a vocal take of one of the more stirring songs on the record, and not being able to shake off the melancholy that accompanied it. And sometimes we're all trying to reach an end goal and slightly misinterpreting each other, whereupon the mix of noise, heat & creative endeavour means that everyone is on the verge of popping, and a collective silence drops in order to stop that happening.
And it goes without saying that the friendship we've forged since last October means we aren't going to lose our tempers with each other anyway. My bandmates have been there for me when I've had bouts of lowness and forlornitude (no idea if that's a word, but I like it), and I like to think I keep their spirits going when they're flagging, too. We're a good band, because we take care of each other, we care about us, and we put the music ahead of ourselves.
In the middle of this, we have signed up with Neon Tiger Productions (who, as a result, are now our management), we have played shows to full houses, half-empty rooms, and three people. We have played to a beer tent full of dancing people, and also a beer tent with some people in it, three of whom slouched off when Matt joked that I was chatting them up (I only asked them if they were relaxed around the boundaries).
We have worked hard to make songs that scared us become not only an immense amount of fun, but different, challenging and exciting for listeners. What were simple pieces have suddenly taken wing and soared above us, leaving some truly beautiful four-part harmonies in their wake, and as we've played more, we have just started to write and generate material together. I think we have become in tune with each other, musically, which means that it won't just be my lyric book from which new songs emerge, and the songs I do write, I bear my bandmates in mind and think of things that they will have as much fun playing, and will suit their styles.
This is the first year with Paul Hancock, Angela Lazenby and Matt Tyrer. I can't wait to see what the second one brings!
John xx
Sunday, 21 July 2013
Studio Diary, 13th & 14th July...
Hello, folks!
So very much has been happening in the recording of our debut album, and it's about time I gave a few thoughts about our most recent session last weekend. We went into Tremolo with the aim of recording the remaining five songs for 'Unexpected Sunshine', read on to see if we made it!
Saturday, 13th July
Angela arrives at my house at 10:20am, with a car full of drums. I add to the chaos with three guitars and my pedal board. Oh, and me. We get to the studio to find the door locked, which isn't a major shock, as we are a bit early. While we wait for Dan to arrive and unlock, we wander around the neighbouring premises, which are holding a clothing & furniture sale. Paul arrives, and the three of us peruse the items on sale, including a large, framed photograph of a gorilla giving the finger. I expect that got sold quite quickly into the morning.
Angela sets up the drums in the main studio room, Dan sets the microphones up around the drum kit while Paul readies his bass, and I set up my electric guitars & pedal board in the control room. Dan puts a mic & stand out for me, and we start recording drum & bass takes, plus guide tracks of guitar and vocal. We get through three songs, one of which being a last-minute addition to the album tracklist, a song we're deeply familiar with, but spend the longest time doing. (It's always the ones you know the best that catch you out.)
Matt arrives with lunch for everyone, and we eat a hearty lunch of baguettes, salad, salami and crisps, and fruit, followed by some rather delicious doughnuts. ("These doughnuts are gooey," comments Paul, to which I reply "That is because they are full of goo." I am not a food salesman.)
One song left to get the rhythm section down, a song called 'The World Tonight', for which I have set a complicated rhythm, and a potentially fiendish drum part, and is a song Angela has been sort-of dreading taking into the studio, for fear of taking a long time over it & having to keep stopping. She, as always, rises to the challenge, and knocks it out of the park. In only a couple of takes, we have a really solid rhythm section down for the song.
I then go into the main studio room with my acoustic guitar, and we set about dismantling the drums and doing a solo take of 'Imagine If We Fell In Love'. We are still wondering how to tackle this song, and so I will play it solo to a click-track, and we can figure out how to dress it later. While Dan surrounds me with microphones (I think I count six or seven), Paul and Angela go on an ice-lolly run. They walk past the studio door (which is kept open as long as humanly possible, because of the heatwave), and Matt follows them, clacking two coconut halves and galloping. Matt then returns to the chillout room to eat the last nectarine.
I am ready to do a take of 'Imagine If...', which means Dan has to turn the air-conditioning off, because the sound of it would ruin the recording. I do one take, which doesn't feel quite right, and in any case I fumble a verse, and there's a pause while he rewinds the tape reel, and I swig from a huge bottle of water. I do another take, it feels much better, and the air-con goes back on, and Paul and Angela return with lollies! Matt being the only one of us wearing a white linen shirt, he spills a Fruit Pastille lolly on himself.
Matt goes on to have four lollies, and after the tape reels are transferred to digital, the heat mixed with a sugar rush causes him to add steel drums to The World Tonight. He is perhaps surprised that I think they sound perfect. He also plays some spellbinding piano on the last track, which is truly beautiful.
We adjourn for the day, pretty much 8pm on the dot. It's hot, we've worked hard, and there's no need to overdo it. We pop to the Sneyd Arms in Keele Village, and enjoy a nice pint of drink, outside in the warm evening air. A man pulls up in the car park, and asks us if this is the pub that's doing kareoke. We tell him we have no idea, so he goes inside. Two minutes later he returns. It isn't.
Sunday 14th July
I wake up early, and send my bandmates text messages with a link to Queens Of The Stone Age's track 'Hispanic Impressions', with a caption "Imagine putting headphones on an excitable Labrador. Now imagine piping this through them!" Another 11pm start, with a plan to get guitar tracks done in the morning, then do vocal takes in the afternoon, followed by further keyboard jiggery-pokery, then some backing vocals.
Dan & I set up an amp, plug my tuning pedal through the guitar, and start off with re-doing a lead guitar part for 'Yesterday I Was'. It's been on the original demo, and was bugging me that I hadn't tried it on the record. Stoked with success, I get through our last-minute song addition, and also add guitar to Matt's piano part that he did the previous day, not much at all, but it adds atmosphere and makes the song portray the feel of our album cover! Matt arrives, and asks Dan to press the intercom button. Through my headphones I hear: "Don't text Matt an hour before his alarm's due to go off, because then he'll arrive on time!" Oops.
I then move onto 'This Rod I Have Made For My Back', and have little bother with the rhythm part, and I then have an urge to try a guitar solo. I fluff the first couple of attempts, and so Dan suggests that while I am trying to get that right, Matt starts working out keyboard parts for the song. Cue forty minutes of going over and over a lead break while occasionally hearing MAD NOISES coming out of the headphones that I've left on top of a nearby speaker. Matt calls me in at intervals to hear the sounds he's toying with, I give them my seal of approval, and Angela and Paul (who have gone out for a lunch run while I've been locked away in the studio room), return and announce that lunch is served! I insist on getting my lead break down while it's fresh in my head, and after a few runs at it, am finally ready to eat.
We eat a similar spread to the previous day, and it's the best kind of lunch when the weather is how it is. We watch an episode of Adventure Time (the one with the Door Lord, in case any of you are into it!), and I am eager to get the last track done.
I swap my Cort Sunset (which I play in standard tuning) for my custom Fender Squier Telecaster, which I play in DADGAD. As it was the previous day, lunch immediately precedes 'The World Tonight', so I get tuned up and ready to roll. Then the wheels fall off a bit.
Now, when you're on your own in a recording booth, it's really exciting when everything's going well. You race through rhythm guitar and lead breaks (even when you're stumbling a little and re-taking it's okay, because you're working through it), and it's thrilling. When you hit a stumbling block, and everyone's having a crisis meeting that you can't hear, it's a bit frustrating. This is has happened once before, and it's what happens to me now. If you're ever having studio time, get straight to the same room that everyone else is in, it does help to stop you overheating and getting frustrated.
My guitar's intonation, it is eventually revealed, is off, because no matter how much I tune the guitar, as soon as I go up to the 12th fret, it sounds slightly out and spoils the recording. It's not the kind of problem that knackers the guitar for gigs etc, but for the album recording it could do with not having that problem. I have two starts at recording a take, but get no further than the second chorus both times.
I stand stock-still with my guitar while everyone in the control room is presumably saying "Yes, that sounds out, I don't know why," while I am in the studio room, just desperately wanting to get from one end of the song to the other. I can't quite hear the problem with the guitar either, which doesn't help. Dan comes in and fiddles with the guitar a little while I strum chords, I hope to heck that's solved it, do another run and we stop short, even after trying it with another guitar.
I am starting to get a grump on, because I don't want there to be anything wrong with my lovely guitar, and I just want to play my part and have it work the way it has up until now. Dan suggests tuning my bottom D-string to E for the time being, which might feel a bit weird, but it'll sound about right. I do this, it works fine, and my mood eases back up after a stop in the pits.
I work through vocal takes for all the songs we've done, which are completed with minimal fuss (thankfully!), and there is another lolly run. We start to adding more keyboards for several songs, and in a further lolly-induced intoxication, adds marimba and tubular bells to 'The World Tonight', and begins giggling uncontrollably.
We lay on backing vocals to one last song, then are forced to call the weekend's work to halt, mixing down the five songs that we wanted to do (and did get done!), and racing off to The Old Brown Jug for a show headlining Andrew Tranter's Song Club.
What a night! Some great acts playing, including Jim McShee, and Headsticks (of course), and we are more ready to bang a show out than we thought. Two solid days working, laughing, even eating together, have bonded us more tightly than usual. By the time we're set up, we're ready to play the songs we know backwards, and even the new songs, which we have never even gigged. We burn through eight songs, including two of the new studio tracks, and they feel good. Before playing 'I've Still Got Your Blood On My Curtains', Angela gets my attention and says "Really go for it!" and we do. I am jigging and swaying everywhere during the set, more energetic than I've ever been, and the four of us seem to have one, long, out-of-body experience.
The show ends, we pack up, chat to people, we make new fans who happened to be in the Jug by chance and really enjoyed us, and we hug, reflect on the weekend's work, and go home to listen to the mixes and form our plans for the next recording session.
It's good being in this band.
John xxx
P.S: Regarding my earlier reference to 'Hispanic Impressions', it's this:
So very much has been happening in the recording of our debut album, and it's about time I gave a few thoughts about our most recent session last weekend. We went into Tremolo with the aim of recording the remaining five songs for 'Unexpected Sunshine', read on to see if we made it!
Saturday, 13th July
Angela arrives at my house at 10:20am, with a car full of drums. I add to the chaos with three guitars and my pedal board. Oh, and me. We get to the studio to find the door locked, which isn't a major shock, as we are a bit early. While we wait for Dan to arrive and unlock, we wander around the neighbouring premises, which are holding a clothing & furniture sale. Paul arrives, and the three of us peruse the items on sale, including a large, framed photograph of a gorilla giving the finger. I expect that got sold quite quickly into the morning.
Angela sets up the drums in the main studio room, Dan sets the microphones up around the drum kit while Paul readies his bass, and I set up my electric guitars & pedal board in the control room. Dan puts a mic & stand out for me, and we start recording drum & bass takes, plus guide tracks of guitar and vocal. We get through three songs, one of which being a last-minute addition to the album tracklist, a song we're deeply familiar with, but spend the longest time doing. (It's always the ones you know the best that catch you out.)
Matt arrives with lunch for everyone, and we eat a hearty lunch of baguettes, salad, salami and crisps, and fruit, followed by some rather delicious doughnuts. ("These doughnuts are gooey," comments Paul, to which I reply "That is because they are full of goo." I am not a food salesman.)
One song left to get the rhythm section down, a song called 'The World Tonight', for which I have set a complicated rhythm, and a potentially fiendish drum part, and is a song Angela has been sort-of dreading taking into the studio, for fear of taking a long time over it & having to keep stopping. She, as always, rises to the challenge, and knocks it out of the park. In only a couple of takes, we have a really solid rhythm section down for the song.
I then go into the main studio room with my acoustic guitar, and we set about dismantling the drums and doing a solo take of 'Imagine If We Fell In Love'. We are still wondering how to tackle this song, and so I will play it solo to a click-track, and we can figure out how to dress it later. While Dan surrounds me with microphones (I think I count six or seven), Paul and Angela go on an ice-lolly run. They walk past the studio door (which is kept open as long as humanly possible, because of the heatwave), and Matt follows them, clacking two coconut halves and galloping. Matt then returns to the chillout room to eat the last nectarine.
I am ready to do a take of 'Imagine If...', which means Dan has to turn the air-conditioning off, because the sound of it would ruin the recording. I do one take, which doesn't feel quite right, and in any case I fumble a verse, and there's a pause while he rewinds the tape reel, and I swig from a huge bottle of water. I do another take, it feels much better, and the air-con goes back on, and Paul and Angela return with lollies! Matt being the only one of us wearing a white linen shirt, he spills a Fruit Pastille lolly on himself.
Matt goes on to have four lollies, and after the tape reels are transferred to digital, the heat mixed with a sugar rush causes him to add steel drums to The World Tonight. He is perhaps surprised that I think they sound perfect. He also plays some spellbinding piano on the last track, which is truly beautiful.
We adjourn for the day, pretty much 8pm on the dot. It's hot, we've worked hard, and there's no need to overdo it. We pop to the Sneyd Arms in Keele Village, and enjoy a nice pint of drink, outside in the warm evening air. A man pulls up in the car park, and asks us if this is the pub that's doing kareoke. We tell him we have no idea, so he goes inside. Two minutes later he returns. It isn't.
Sunday 14th July
I wake up early, and send my bandmates text messages with a link to Queens Of The Stone Age's track 'Hispanic Impressions', with a caption "Imagine putting headphones on an excitable Labrador. Now imagine piping this through them!" Another 11pm start, with a plan to get guitar tracks done in the morning, then do vocal takes in the afternoon, followed by further keyboard jiggery-pokery, then some backing vocals.
Dan & I set up an amp, plug my tuning pedal through the guitar, and start off with re-doing a lead guitar part for 'Yesterday I Was'. It's been on the original demo, and was bugging me that I hadn't tried it on the record. Stoked with success, I get through our last-minute song addition, and also add guitar to Matt's piano part that he did the previous day, not much at all, but it adds atmosphere and makes the song portray the feel of our album cover! Matt arrives, and asks Dan to press the intercom button. Through my headphones I hear: "Don't text Matt an hour before his alarm's due to go off, because then he'll arrive on time!" Oops.
I then move onto 'This Rod I Have Made For My Back', and have little bother with the rhythm part, and I then have an urge to try a guitar solo. I fluff the first couple of attempts, and so Dan suggests that while I am trying to get that right, Matt starts working out keyboard parts for the song. Cue forty minutes of going over and over a lead break while occasionally hearing MAD NOISES coming out of the headphones that I've left on top of a nearby speaker. Matt calls me in at intervals to hear the sounds he's toying with, I give them my seal of approval, and Angela and Paul (who have gone out for a lunch run while I've been locked away in the studio room), return and announce that lunch is served! I insist on getting my lead break down while it's fresh in my head, and after a few runs at it, am finally ready to eat.
We eat a similar spread to the previous day, and it's the best kind of lunch when the weather is how it is. We watch an episode of Adventure Time (the one with the Door Lord, in case any of you are into it!), and I am eager to get the last track done.
I swap my Cort Sunset (which I play in standard tuning) for my custom Fender Squier Telecaster, which I play in DADGAD. As it was the previous day, lunch immediately precedes 'The World Tonight', so I get tuned up and ready to roll. Then the wheels fall off a bit.
Now, when you're on your own in a recording booth, it's really exciting when everything's going well. You race through rhythm guitar and lead breaks (even when you're stumbling a little and re-taking it's okay, because you're working through it), and it's thrilling. When you hit a stumbling block, and everyone's having a crisis meeting that you can't hear, it's a bit frustrating. This is has happened once before, and it's what happens to me now. If you're ever having studio time, get straight to the same room that everyone else is in, it does help to stop you overheating and getting frustrated.
My guitar's intonation, it is eventually revealed, is off, because no matter how much I tune the guitar, as soon as I go up to the 12th fret, it sounds slightly out and spoils the recording. It's not the kind of problem that knackers the guitar for gigs etc, but for the album recording it could do with not having that problem. I have two starts at recording a take, but get no further than the second chorus both times.
I stand stock-still with my guitar while everyone in the control room is presumably saying "Yes, that sounds out, I don't know why," while I am in the studio room, just desperately wanting to get from one end of the song to the other. I can't quite hear the problem with the guitar either, which doesn't help. Dan comes in and fiddles with the guitar a little while I strum chords, I hope to heck that's solved it, do another run and we stop short, even after trying it with another guitar.
I am starting to get a grump on, because I don't want there to be anything wrong with my lovely guitar, and I just want to play my part and have it work the way it has up until now. Dan suggests tuning my bottom D-string to E for the time being, which might feel a bit weird, but it'll sound about right. I do this, it works fine, and my mood eases back up after a stop in the pits.
I work through vocal takes for all the songs we've done, which are completed with minimal fuss (thankfully!), and there is another lolly run. We start to adding more keyboards for several songs, and in a further lolly-induced intoxication, adds marimba and tubular bells to 'The World Tonight', and begins giggling uncontrollably.
We lay on backing vocals to one last song, then are forced to call the weekend's work to halt, mixing down the five songs that we wanted to do (and did get done!), and racing off to The Old Brown Jug for a show headlining Andrew Tranter's Song Club.
What a night! Some great acts playing, including Jim McShee, and Headsticks (of course), and we are more ready to bang a show out than we thought. Two solid days working, laughing, even eating together, have bonded us more tightly than usual. By the time we're set up, we're ready to play the songs we know backwards, and even the new songs, which we have never even gigged. We burn through eight songs, including two of the new studio tracks, and they feel good. Before playing 'I've Still Got Your Blood On My Curtains', Angela gets my attention and says "Really go for it!" and we do. I am jigging and swaying everywhere during the set, more energetic than I've ever been, and the four of us seem to have one, long, out-of-body experience.
The show ends, we pack up, chat to people, we make new fans who happened to be in the Jug by chance and really enjoyed us, and we hug, reflect on the weekend's work, and go home to listen to the mixes and form our plans for the next recording session.
It's good being in this band.
John xxx
P.S: Regarding my earlier reference to 'Hispanic Impressions', it's this:
Tuesday, 18 June 2013
Can You Hear Us?
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| The John MacLeod Band, L-R: Paul Hancock, Angela Lazenby, John MacLeod, Matt Tyrer - making our first appearance at The Sugarmill, the West Midlands' top music venue, Friday 7th June, 2013 |
"Don't it always seem to go / That you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone..."That, ladies and gents, is bollocks. Of all the myriad examples that I could pick to highlight my point, I can go for nothing more obvious than the present. I am very aware how lucky I am to be in a band with three caring, funny and talented people, who all want to make music with me, and do this the best we can. I am equally aware of how a shift in the timing of this could have stopped it before it started. We are sturdy, fragile, prone to the whims of the universe, and I know exactly what I've got.
Anyway. Hello. There is music further down this page, after my witterings, but don't let that tempt you to skip all my customary waffle. I'd hate that. It has been a long time since I wrote on here, too busy writing elsewhere, I suppose, that and playing shows in expected and unexpected places (not to mention unprecedented places - more later), piling into our recording studio to crack on with our debut record, or rehearsing at The Garage Of Dreams.
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| Playing a new song, 'Please Come Home', at The Sugarmill, Friday 7th June, 2013 |
It's been all go. When last I spoke, I had just played a solo acoustic set during Burslem Festival, when a wee-stained inebriate stood in front of me, erroneously counting me in on songs he'd never heard, and I was anticipating our first ever set at the Sugarmill. Well, as the above picture may suggest, we did it! It was a magical evening, loading in for soundcheck, working with the very helpful sound technicians to get everything set up & ready for us to walk on, plug in and play (and they did an equally quick job getting Matt's keyboard & synth set up right before our set, as work commitments had meant he couldn't make soundcheck), and the crowd were really with us for the show. We were supporting Junction 16, and we played for half an hour (three different guitars over six songs, folks!), and I am pretty certain that it was the best & slickest show we've played to date. (Also, one has to love Chris Wilson, the booker/promoter for The Sugarmill, whose energy propels him from one end of the building to the other, seemingly in no time at all. One second he's there, the next, a Chris-shaped cloud of dust settles where once he stood. An enthusiastic ball of energy, which suits us well.)
I am finding it very interesting the way that working in the studio informs what you play live, and, conversely, taking tricks you've learned on the stage into the studio. There are songs we haven't gigged yet, and are in the process of putting them together in rehearsal ready for recording, and it'll be through that process that we know what to take to the stage afterwards, yet there are songs such as 'Six Bodies, Strange Noises', which we have played extensively in a variety of different styles & venues, and in our last recording session, re-recorded the last half of the song on my new Cort Sunset guitar to add a cleaner guitar solo and add controlled amp feedback, which I had just learned how to do, two gigs previously!
But my mind is a whirl, tonight. After The Sugarmill, I spent a weekend in Stroud, taking it in turns with Matt to chase a lovable Labrador called Dylan around our friend Ed's expansive garden, pausing only to drink agreeable beers, walk through fields in the dark to find pubs, and play croquet. I felt as damn near civilised as it's possible for a chap to be, mallet in one hand, glass of Pimms in the other, sunglasses hanging off my jeans pocket, black Converse taking in heat like water in the Titanic.
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| John, Paul and Angela, minus a virus-stricken Matt, playing an acoustic set at Moorlands FM, Monday 10th June, 2013. (Taken by Gary Wilcox) |
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| Photos from the drums, taken by Angela & compiled by Paul. At Middlewich Folk And Boat Festival's Alt Folk Stage, at the Cheshire Cheese venue, Saturday 15th June, 2013. L-R: Paul, John and Matt. |
"So what do you play?"
"Our own songs."
"Eh?!"
"Enjoy the set!"
After our set, we watched Giro Junkie play a storming half hour, in some ways literally, as the heavens opened for him, and cleared away almost instantly. I've seen him do a similar show before, but it is truly majestic nonetheless. It includes a loop station, and the addition of all the layers he creates is so subtle that you don't realise he's doing it until this lavish orchestration just appears out of nowhere. It's beautiful.
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| John, Paul and Angela - waiting to be lead into the studio, Saturday June 15th, 2013. (Taken by Matt,) |
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| Matt and John during the interview on BBC Radio Stoke, Saturday 15th March, 2013. (Taken by Angela.) |
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| Listening to Dan Rowley mix down the day's work, Sunday 16th June, 2013. (Taken by Matt.) |
In the meantime, these tracks have been released for you to listen to, and I'm putting them at the end here for you to enjoy. Thanks for reading, and I'll try to write more in future. Also, sorry this has seemed more like a photojournal! Bloggy blogginess will resume asap.
Much love,
John xxx
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| The Sugarmill, Friday 7th June, 2013. A truly exciting moment. (Taken by Angela.) |
Sunday, 5 May 2013
"A university arises..."
Good evening, ladies and gents, I trust you are well?
I found myself thinking about the odd things that pass through one's mind during those half-hour stints upon the stage, today. I think about those odd things a lot, actually, usually when I'm on stage. You inhabit two very different forms of existence when you're playing music in front of people, where you're living inside the song, and equally aware of what's going on around you. My attention was drawn to this earlier today as I was playing a solo set for Burslem Festival, when what I can only describe as "a piss-soaked drunk" happened upon the outdoor stage, and made varying lurches to and away from the stage. On the one hand, I'm singing a song called 'Change' - a tender song about heartbreak, and a song that can get me a little teary if I'm not careful, and as such, the song is thankfully brief - and on the other hand, I'm watching him carefully in case he makes any move to join me on the stage for a mid-song cuddle.
That duality is precarious, or at least it can be, because at any one time you can weigh too heavily one one side, and either become so engrossed in the song that you don't realise you've fallen off the stage until you're in mid-air, or become so distracted by your surroundings and the people therein that you can't play for shit.
If you were to make me choose between those two states, I would plump for the former. At least if someone gets his cock out during a love song, I'm not going to notice. I have played songs while minor ruckuses (rucki?) have broken out and subsequently extinguished before now, which still doesn't beat the time my parents and their friend John were playing a gig in a pub's snug lounge (out in the middle of nowhere), when a fight broke out in the bar, which ended up with several police vehicles turning up and the rozzers hauling several people out of the premises. Only Dad was placed to be able to see any of this, and so while John & Mum played their parts undistracted from the blind spot, Dad was left to try and get through the lead guitar part to The Shadows' 'Apache' with blue lights flashing in his eyes.*
I don't seem to get too distracted when the band are playing, and walk the tightrope fairly well, I think. I seem to be totally immersed in the music, while also looking around the room and taking in what's happening, mentally looking out for things on which to pass comment when the song's finished. There are slips, though. Sometimes I'm so caught up in what I'm doing that I don't think about the lyrics, and occasionally an entirely wrong lyric comes up. I will either get lines the wrong way around, swap whole verses or a similar word appears on my tongue and nobody notices. The other week we were playing in Birmingham and over the course of the set, all of those lyrical errors turned up once each. The one that stands out to me, was on a song called 'Universe Colliding' where the lyrics runs "There's a lot of things we want to do, but we never get chance / The opportunity arises so I'm gonna stand up / And sing out..." and even now I can hear myself sing "The university arises..." and two weeks later, I am none the wiser for why that happened.
But it's all part of the magic, getting from the first song to the last. Every time it's fresh and exciting, and these days, with the band especially, utterly joyous. It's a genuine pleasure to be on stage with Angela, Matt & Paul, playing all these songs and turning to them whenever possible just to enjoy what they're doing, and share a smile. We played a show at Fenton Manor Sports Complex (in the cafe bar - it was unusual, but actually pretty sublime, like a German TV studio taping) a week or so ago, and we had plenty of room to move about, no one felt like we were going to trip over each other, and it was a pretty relaxed feel. What made it weirder was turning to face the band and seeing people walking around behind us with towels under their arm, ready for a swim. Still, it was good. It's not happened yet where I've been reassuring the band during an instrumental & realised I should be singing, but there have been a few races back to the microphone...
The coming weeks hold promises of joy and treasures galore, with some studio time ready for May, June & July (where we hope to make further significant progress on our debut record, among other things), and where we are also playing shows for the Newcastle Jazz & Blues Festival, at The Rigger and Old Brown Jug respectively, and there are other shows coming up that we're waiting to announce. We'll also be playing at The Sugarmill on June 7th, which is really exciting for me (for all of us!). I have wanted to step onto that stage since I was 18, so I'm very proud to have that chance. We'll be supporting Junction 16, and I hope it's the first of many times we get to play there.
So with all that to look forward to, I'm going to go and think about things, plot stuff, and try and get the image of that bloke with the wee-stained trousers out of my head. Oh yes, and drink some tea!
See you soon, keep behaving nicely!
Love,
John xxx
*It was bloody weird. About ten minutes prior to this, I had left the gents' just as a man with a sharp farming implement walked into the bar. How there weren't any casualties I don't know.
I found myself thinking about the odd things that pass through one's mind during those half-hour stints upon the stage, today. I think about those odd things a lot, actually, usually when I'm on stage. You inhabit two very different forms of existence when you're playing music in front of people, where you're living inside the song, and equally aware of what's going on around you. My attention was drawn to this earlier today as I was playing a solo set for Burslem Festival, when what I can only describe as "a piss-soaked drunk" happened upon the outdoor stage, and made varying lurches to and away from the stage. On the one hand, I'm singing a song called 'Change' - a tender song about heartbreak, and a song that can get me a little teary if I'm not careful, and as such, the song is thankfully brief - and on the other hand, I'm watching him carefully in case he makes any move to join me on the stage for a mid-song cuddle.
That duality is precarious, or at least it can be, because at any one time you can weigh too heavily one one side, and either become so engrossed in the song that you don't realise you've fallen off the stage until you're in mid-air, or become so distracted by your surroundings and the people therein that you can't play for shit.
If you were to make me choose between those two states, I would plump for the former. At least if someone gets his cock out during a love song, I'm not going to notice. I have played songs while minor ruckuses (rucki?) have broken out and subsequently extinguished before now, which still doesn't beat the time my parents and their friend John were playing a gig in a pub's snug lounge (out in the middle of nowhere), when a fight broke out in the bar, which ended up with several police vehicles turning up and the rozzers hauling several people out of the premises. Only Dad was placed to be able to see any of this, and so while John & Mum played their parts undistracted from the blind spot, Dad was left to try and get through the lead guitar part to The Shadows' 'Apache' with blue lights flashing in his eyes.*
I don't seem to get too distracted when the band are playing, and walk the tightrope fairly well, I think. I seem to be totally immersed in the music, while also looking around the room and taking in what's happening, mentally looking out for things on which to pass comment when the song's finished. There are slips, though. Sometimes I'm so caught up in what I'm doing that I don't think about the lyrics, and occasionally an entirely wrong lyric comes up. I will either get lines the wrong way around, swap whole verses or a similar word appears on my tongue and nobody notices. The other week we were playing in Birmingham and over the course of the set, all of those lyrical errors turned up once each. The one that stands out to me, was on a song called 'Universe Colliding' where the lyrics runs "There's a lot of things we want to do, but we never get chance / The opportunity arises so I'm gonna stand up / And sing out..." and even now I can hear myself sing "The university arises..." and two weeks later, I am none the wiser for why that happened.
But it's all part of the magic, getting from the first song to the last. Every time it's fresh and exciting, and these days, with the band especially, utterly joyous. It's a genuine pleasure to be on stage with Angela, Matt & Paul, playing all these songs and turning to them whenever possible just to enjoy what they're doing, and share a smile. We played a show at Fenton Manor Sports Complex (in the cafe bar - it was unusual, but actually pretty sublime, like a German TV studio taping) a week or so ago, and we had plenty of room to move about, no one felt like we were going to trip over each other, and it was a pretty relaxed feel. What made it weirder was turning to face the band and seeing people walking around behind us with towels under their arm, ready for a swim. Still, it was good. It's not happened yet where I've been reassuring the band during an instrumental & realised I should be singing, but there have been a few races back to the microphone...
The coming weeks hold promises of joy and treasures galore, with some studio time ready for May, June & July (where we hope to make further significant progress on our debut record, among other things), and where we are also playing shows for the Newcastle Jazz & Blues Festival, at The Rigger and Old Brown Jug respectively, and there are other shows coming up that we're waiting to announce. We'll also be playing at The Sugarmill on June 7th, which is really exciting for me (for all of us!). I have wanted to step onto that stage since I was 18, so I'm very proud to have that chance. We'll be supporting Junction 16, and I hope it's the first of many times we get to play there.
So with all that to look forward to, I'm going to go and think about things, plot stuff, and try and get the image of that bloke with the wee-stained trousers out of my head. Oh yes, and drink some tea!
See you soon, keep behaving nicely!
Love,
John xxx
*It was bloody weird. About ten minutes prior to this, I had left the gents' just as a man with a sharp farming implement walked into the bar. How there weren't any casualties I don't know.
Tuesday, 9 April 2013
Tried and Emotional
Evening, blogwatchers,
A fine malaise has settled over me these last two days, which has left me in something of a reverie. There is absolutely no reason for this to be the case, because it's been a perfectly lovely weekend, but I can actually pinpoint a thing as a cause for it - emotional residue. (This is not a physical object, thank the heavens, I'm not sure I would have any idea what such a thing would look like, were it to exist. Differently-coloured candlewax, perhaps? The colour could vary depending on the emotion it represents, couldn't it? Er, anyway, I've drifted off-point.)
The band & I spent a full weekend in the studio, trying to get as much work done as possible on our record. To say we were successful would be a massive blimmin' understatement. Drum tracks, guitar tracks, and bass tracks were recorded for six songs, two of which have also had lead vocals recorded, and one has piano. Things are coming on leaps and bounds for 'Unexpected Sunshine', and all the songs so far are surprising us with how well they are taking shape. There are all sorts of stories I could tell you, but I shall probably wait until we're about to deliver the record to you. That will make a nice parcel of anecdotes (or nonecdotes, as I sometimes call them).
Anyway, Angela & Paul powered through, and we hit target by Saturday night, getting the bass & drums down for those six songs, and then on the Sunday we transferred the analogue tape reels to the computer to begin recording guitar parts, and we also crossed our fingers that we would get to do some vocals. Sadly, Matt didn't get a great deal of a chance to do anything other than a piano part for one song, as he was needed on more urgent business, but he was with us for half the weekend, across the two days. (It's so much fun to watch him fizz with ideas when we're playing back the takes, I think the phase of production where we're adding effects, extra vocals, and who knows what else will be the most exciting part for him!)
The last song we worked on is called 'It Was You', and is a pretty intense song, and after a few takes in the vocal booth, and trying a few ideas to attempt making a vocal take that was equal to how it sounds when we play it live, we finally tried putting the mic in the control room, and have me sing it in a similar way to the way the guide track was recorded the previous day.
I had sung this song about five or six times by this point, and was starting to suffer from the effects of living in the song. When you write & perform a song that was borne of difficult & emotional times, it's initially cathartic. You play the song on stage, and are briefly transported back to those circumstances, but the audience response helps to re-vanquish it, you play another song, and you shake it off. The here and now takes over again, and the past becomes the past. Not so much the case when you are recording, because you are not only striving to maintain the technical quality of your voice, but the emotional weight of what you're singing needs to be at full whack - there's no let-up, it's you and that song, fighting in the vocal booth.
We tried out the mic in the control room, Paul & Angela stayed on the settee at the back - I needed them with me, subconsciously for emotional support, I think - and we managed it in one take (hopefully - we'll know for sure when we hear the rough mixes). I managed to keep myself together, although there were a couple of moments I felt my throat tighten & a couple of tears make vague threats from underneath my eyes, but it sounded pretty good.
Sadly, at that point, time beat us, and it was time to pack up our instruments, bid Dan Rowley (producer at Tremolo Studios) a fond farewell, and be on our way, but there was one thing that I never got chance to do - shake the song from off my shoulders. Its melancholy embrace hung on me, and instead of doing something cheerful to eradicate it and leave it behind, it came with me. And so, as I sit & write this, it remains, and I find myself feeling so proud of my band, so indebted to Dan, really pleased with the progress we are making on our record, but also - at the back of my mind - weighed down in a fugue for things that happened so long ago, and I need a way to shake it off. We have a band rehearsal tomorrow night, so I suspect that will be done then. We'll try and make it a garage party.
That's all I can think to tell you for now, there are gigs coming, which will be announced as soon as is humanly possible (under wraps for now, but trust me - really exciting news!), so for now, I will leave you with a piece of video I made last night, with some footage we took whilst recording over the weekend. Hopefully the first of several, I present 'Studio Stories, Episode One'.
Lots of Love, be nice.
John xxx
A fine malaise has settled over me these last two days, which has left me in something of a reverie. There is absolutely no reason for this to be the case, because it's been a perfectly lovely weekend, but I can actually pinpoint a thing as a cause for it - emotional residue. (This is not a physical object, thank the heavens, I'm not sure I would have any idea what such a thing would look like, were it to exist. Differently-coloured candlewax, perhaps? The colour could vary depending on the emotion it represents, couldn't it? Er, anyway, I've drifted off-point.)
The band & I spent a full weekend in the studio, trying to get as much work done as possible on our record. To say we were successful would be a massive blimmin' understatement. Drum tracks, guitar tracks, and bass tracks were recorded for six songs, two of which have also had lead vocals recorded, and one has piano. Things are coming on leaps and bounds for 'Unexpected Sunshine', and all the songs so far are surprising us with how well they are taking shape. There are all sorts of stories I could tell you, but I shall probably wait until we're about to deliver the record to you. That will make a nice parcel of anecdotes (or nonecdotes, as I sometimes call them).
Anyway, Angela & Paul powered through, and we hit target by Saturday night, getting the bass & drums down for those six songs, and then on the Sunday we transferred the analogue tape reels to the computer to begin recording guitar parts, and we also crossed our fingers that we would get to do some vocals. Sadly, Matt didn't get a great deal of a chance to do anything other than a piano part for one song, as he was needed on more urgent business, but he was with us for half the weekend, across the two days. (It's so much fun to watch him fizz with ideas when we're playing back the takes, I think the phase of production where we're adding effects, extra vocals, and who knows what else will be the most exciting part for him!)
The last song we worked on is called 'It Was You', and is a pretty intense song, and after a few takes in the vocal booth, and trying a few ideas to attempt making a vocal take that was equal to how it sounds when we play it live, we finally tried putting the mic in the control room, and have me sing it in a similar way to the way the guide track was recorded the previous day.
I had sung this song about five or six times by this point, and was starting to suffer from the effects of living in the song. When you write & perform a song that was borne of difficult & emotional times, it's initially cathartic. You play the song on stage, and are briefly transported back to those circumstances, but the audience response helps to re-vanquish it, you play another song, and you shake it off. The here and now takes over again, and the past becomes the past. Not so much the case when you are recording, because you are not only striving to maintain the technical quality of your voice, but the emotional weight of what you're singing needs to be at full whack - there's no let-up, it's you and that song, fighting in the vocal booth.
We tried out the mic in the control room, Paul & Angela stayed on the settee at the back - I needed them with me, subconsciously for emotional support, I think - and we managed it in one take (hopefully - we'll know for sure when we hear the rough mixes). I managed to keep myself together, although there were a couple of moments I felt my throat tighten & a couple of tears make vague threats from underneath my eyes, but it sounded pretty good.
Sadly, at that point, time beat us, and it was time to pack up our instruments, bid Dan Rowley (producer at Tremolo Studios) a fond farewell, and be on our way, but there was one thing that I never got chance to do - shake the song from off my shoulders. Its melancholy embrace hung on me, and instead of doing something cheerful to eradicate it and leave it behind, it came with me. And so, as I sit & write this, it remains, and I find myself feeling so proud of my band, so indebted to Dan, really pleased with the progress we are making on our record, but also - at the back of my mind - weighed down in a fugue for things that happened so long ago, and I need a way to shake it off. We have a band rehearsal tomorrow night, so I suspect that will be done then. We'll try and make it a garage party.
That's all I can think to tell you for now, there are gigs coming, which will be announced as soon as is humanly possible (under wraps for now, but trust me - really exciting news!), so for now, I will leave you with a piece of video I made last night, with some footage we took whilst recording over the weekend. Hopefully the first of several, I present 'Studio Stories, Episode One'.
Lots of Love, be nice.
John xxx
Friday, 8 March 2013
CALLING ALL PHOTOGRAPHERS!
CALLING ALL PHOTOGRAPHERS!
We want to collaborate with you! You might have heard from some wanton source that we're recording an album. In light of what we're making, we'd like you to get your nice cameras at the ready and take photos of beautiful sunsets, sunrises, or just take photos that might involve the sun in a surprising way.
Take your photographs, and then get them to us, either by e-mail, Facebook or Twitter, or however you like, and hopefully it won't be too long until we can reveal all. (Also, if you have any photos already that fit this criteria, send them on!)
Thank you in advance, lovely folks, we can't wait to see your sun-based photographs.
We want to collaborate with you! You might have heard from some wanton source that we're recording an album. In light of what we're making, we'd like you to get your nice cameras at the ready and take photos of beautiful sunsets, sunrises, or just take photos that might involve the sun in a surprising way.
Take your photographs, and then get them to us, either by e-mail, Facebook or Twitter, or however you like, and hopefully it won't be too long until we can reveal all. (Also, if you have any photos already that fit this criteria, send them on!)
Thank you in advance, lovely folks, we can't wait to see your sun-based photographs.
Happy snapping,
John xxx
Monday, 4 March 2013
Unexpected Sunshine and Mattress Trebuchets
Arfternoon.
I'm almost a bit disappointed, because I'd managed to write two blog entries on consecutive days, and was really hoping for a third, but it didn't quite happen. I'm the sort of chap that always hopes to get into a good routine - early nights, regular shopping, remembering to do my laundry at respectable intervals - but never quite manages it.
And it's always once I've managed to, say, get up at 7am on two days on the trot that I think to myself "Yes, finally! I've turned a corner! All these unwanted lie-ins are a thing of the past!" and then wake up the next day at least an hour later than I wanted, resulting in a frenzied gallop around the house, grabbing stray pieces of clothing and trying not to fall up the stairs.
I once worked as a senior member of staff in an independent record store, and over Christmas we would pull early shifts in order to get through the backlog of deliveries that used to logjam the staff quarters over the Festive period (there are probably many and varied stories I could tell you about the time I spent working in that lovely old shop - no longer with us and is currently a bland Virginmedia death-hole - but I can't remember any of them right now, so will try and stockpile them for future blog entries). My early-morning shift was due, and I went to bed early with that reverence you can only achieve when you know you are doing a Good And Proper Thing, you know, instead of staying up all night and playing computer games until you can hear the dawn chorus of birds in the park outside your flat (this has happened - again, another story).
That reverence is something else, isn't it? If you really want to be smug at yourself, make a cup of tea to drink in bed while you read a chapter or two of a book. That night, I did all that (I might have been trying to read Lord Of The Rings at the time, I have only ever made it to the end of the second book, and the chances of me getting beyond that have have gone past slim - I console myself by knowing what happens after having watched the films with my folks, but that's a bit like making yourself feel better about not having read Wuthering Heights by saying "Well, I've listened to Kate Bush..."), and I went smugly to sleep in anticipation of getting up early and arriving at the shop at half-six in the morning.
In much the same way that nothing feels quite like that early-night smugness, nothing matches that shot of adrenalin when you wake up and look at the clock, only to discover you should have left the house. It's as if you've actually been thrown out of bed by a mattress-mounted trebuchet. If you've ever leapt out of bed following one of those startling moments, ask yourself how you never actually hit the wall when you got up. I awoke at 8am, a full hour after I was supposed to be at the shop in the first place. I raced around my flat, picking up stray clothes and calling a taxi, with that breathy panic that you know you'll still be feeling long after you apologise to your boss. I was hanging up the phone to the taxi firm (and, unfathomably, trying to pull a sock over my head), when I remembered that my early shift wasn't today. It was tomorrow. It was, in actual fact, my day off.
So there, in three paragraphs, we have covered the key facets of human existence: smugness, panic and relief. I often feel that these three states of being are the cornerstone of humanity. I will quite happily continue to believe this until someone knocks me off my perch, but until then, I will keep excitedly chattering about the record I'm making. (Wow, I didn't think I'd be able to get this blog entry on-topic - miracles do happen!)
The excitement gathers apace. Our producer Dan re-tweaked the rough mixes from what we recorded on last weekend, and I sat down the other night to listen to them. It's all a bit thrilling, to hear someone working on stuff that I've written, to make it sound nice. It makes me think about what's going to happen with it when it's all finished, and what I hope people will think about it when they hear it. It also makes me wonder what I'm going to say about it once it's finished.
I mean, why does anyone make music? At a guess, because they have something to say, and feelings to express, because they want to be heard, because they want to move people in some way. They want to be identified with, to know that they aren't on their own. Music is that thing that, when you hear something that you connect with, makes you feel less alone in the world. That feeling when you listen to a song that makes you think "This is exactly what I am going through now," that puts a spring in your step and gives you the strength to keep moving forward, is invaluable. Nothing matches it.
So we'll keep going until it's finished. And I will keep talking about it. I don't want to give too much away about the record, but if I'm going to tell you anything about it that will leave you intrigued, I will tell you that it's called 'Unexpected Sunshine'. Was that exciting? I hope so. (It certainly bloody was for me, leastways!)
I shall go now, I plan to watch a Rich Hall DVD and get a good night's sleep, as Angela is coming round to practice some songs. Wish me luck, and let's hope I don't need my bed-mounted catapult come morning...
Lots of love,
John xxx
I'm almost a bit disappointed, because I'd managed to write two blog entries on consecutive days, and was really hoping for a third, but it didn't quite happen. I'm the sort of chap that always hopes to get into a good routine - early nights, regular shopping, remembering to do my laundry at respectable intervals - but never quite manages it.
And it's always once I've managed to, say, get up at 7am on two days on the trot that I think to myself "Yes, finally! I've turned a corner! All these unwanted lie-ins are a thing of the past!" and then wake up the next day at least an hour later than I wanted, resulting in a frenzied gallop around the house, grabbing stray pieces of clothing and trying not to fall up the stairs.
I once worked as a senior member of staff in an independent record store, and over Christmas we would pull early shifts in order to get through the backlog of deliveries that used to logjam the staff quarters over the Festive period (there are probably many and varied stories I could tell you about the time I spent working in that lovely old shop - no longer with us and is currently a bland Virginmedia death-hole - but I can't remember any of them right now, so will try and stockpile them for future blog entries). My early-morning shift was due, and I went to bed early with that reverence you can only achieve when you know you are doing a Good And Proper Thing, you know, instead of staying up all night and playing computer games until you can hear the dawn chorus of birds in the park outside your flat (this has happened - again, another story).
That reverence is something else, isn't it? If you really want to be smug at yourself, make a cup of tea to drink in bed while you read a chapter or two of a book. That night, I did all that (I might have been trying to read Lord Of The Rings at the time, I have only ever made it to the end of the second book, and the chances of me getting beyond that have have gone past slim - I console myself by knowing what happens after having watched the films with my folks, but that's a bit like making yourself feel better about not having read Wuthering Heights by saying "Well, I've listened to Kate Bush..."), and I went smugly to sleep in anticipation of getting up early and arriving at the shop at half-six in the morning.
In much the same way that nothing feels quite like that early-night smugness, nothing matches that shot of adrenalin when you wake up and look at the clock, only to discover you should have left the house. It's as if you've actually been thrown out of bed by a mattress-mounted trebuchet. If you've ever leapt out of bed following one of those startling moments, ask yourself how you never actually hit the wall when you got up. I awoke at 8am, a full hour after I was supposed to be at the shop in the first place. I raced around my flat, picking up stray clothes and calling a taxi, with that breathy panic that you know you'll still be feeling long after you apologise to your boss. I was hanging up the phone to the taxi firm (and, unfathomably, trying to pull a sock over my head), when I remembered that my early shift wasn't today. It was tomorrow. It was, in actual fact, my day off.
So there, in three paragraphs, we have covered the key facets of human existence: smugness, panic and relief. I often feel that these three states of being are the cornerstone of humanity. I will quite happily continue to believe this until someone knocks me off my perch, but until then, I will keep excitedly chattering about the record I'm making. (Wow, I didn't think I'd be able to get this blog entry on-topic - miracles do happen!)
The excitement gathers apace. Our producer Dan re-tweaked the rough mixes from what we recorded on last weekend, and I sat down the other night to listen to them. It's all a bit thrilling, to hear someone working on stuff that I've written, to make it sound nice. It makes me think about what's going to happen with it when it's all finished, and what I hope people will think about it when they hear it. It also makes me wonder what I'm going to say about it once it's finished.
I mean, why does anyone make music? At a guess, because they have something to say, and feelings to express, because they want to be heard, because they want to move people in some way. They want to be identified with, to know that they aren't on their own. Music is that thing that, when you hear something that you connect with, makes you feel less alone in the world. That feeling when you listen to a song that makes you think "This is exactly what I am going through now," that puts a spring in your step and gives you the strength to keep moving forward, is invaluable. Nothing matches it.
So we'll keep going until it's finished. And I will keep talking about it. I don't want to give too much away about the record, but if I'm going to tell you anything about it that will leave you intrigued, I will tell you that it's called 'Unexpected Sunshine'. Was that exciting? I hope so. (It certainly bloody was for me, leastways!)
I shall go now, I plan to watch a Rich Hall DVD and get a good night's sleep, as Angela is coming round to practice some songs. Wish me luck, and let's hope I don't need my bed-mounted catapult come morning...
Lots of love,
John xxx
Tuesday, 26 February 2013
A Whole World Of Exciting
Good day to you,
It seems so long ago that I was smack-dab in the middle of an existential crisis. It was a couple of years, now that I think about it - directionless, frustrated, and somewhat alone. I knew what I wanted, but didn't know how to get anywhere close to it. Bit by bit, that frustration and solitude have been beaten back, and I didn't realise until now. (In fact, I had pretty much forgotten that period altogether, until the night before last.)
I was playing the occasional open mic, and had been pointed towards a radio session with Moorlands FM (thanks to Paul, who is now playing bass in the band), which had played a massive part in properly reigniting my passion for music, and I started writing songs again. I started to reconnect with myself, and the songs came fairly regularly. I wanted to record again, I wanted to play shows, I wanted to really get my stage legs back.
As the songs came, they started to fit into a theme, which was one of optimism for the future mingled with sadness at the immediate past. These songs persisted, and would begin a process of me writing potential tracklistings for an album that I would never get around to recording, bar a couple of demoes.
More songs came, superceding older, less articulate ones, and lists were rewritten and rewritten until it started to get ridiculous. By 2012 I had about 30 songs, some more relevant than others, and still no demoes. I also had regular bouts of listless near-depressions up until then (I hesitate to call them depression, although it was close - I have seen depression up close, in myself and in others, and am not keen to trivialise it), and regularly felt like I was in a catatonic limbo.
What it came down to was that I had a glut of ideas, for albums, for EPs, titles, videos - you name it, I was thinking of it - but no good outlet for any of them. My ideas had outgrown my scope to make them into a listenable thing, music was the one thing I could do, and I was fast struggling for ways to make it creatively satisfying.
Cue Angela Lazenby, Paul Hancock and Matt Tyrer. The band assembling was a first step - my songs became exciting again, the company and friendship was a tonic, and their ideas and talent were like a spark. Then Angela & Paul got studio time at Tremolo sorted, and that first day in, last Saturday, opened up a world of possibilities. Ideas that I have can be passed among the band members, and going into the studio means we can try them. On Sunday, it dawned on me that the one thing that had been dragging me into a fug of nothingness was that I could think of, say, an introduction to the Record I Would Never Get To Record Properly, and there would be no way of making it.
Today, I can text Matt and say "What about putting trombone on 'The Tallest Tree', and he can reply "And how about full brass section and a choir on the last chorus?" This is a whole world of Exciting, isn't it?
John xxx
It seems so long ago that I was smack-dab in the middle of an existential crisis. It was a couple of years, now that I think about it - directionless, frustrated, and somewhat alone. I knew what I wanted, but didn't know how to get anywhere close to it. Bit by bit, that frustration and solitude have been beaten back, and I didn't realise until now. (In fact, I had pretty much forgotten that period altogether, until the night before last.)
I was playing the occasional open mic, and had been pointed towards a radio session with Moorlands FM (thanks to Paul, who is now playing bass in the band), which had played a massive part in properly reigniting my passion for music, and I started writing songs again. I started to reconnect with myself, and the songs came fairly regularly. I wanted to record again, I wanted to play shows, I wanted to really get my stage legs back.
As the songs came, they started to fit into a theme, which was one of optimism for the future mingled with sadness at the immediate past. These songs persisted, and would begin a process of me writing potential tracklistings for an album that I would never get around to recording, bar a couple of demoes.
More songs came, superceding older, less articulate ones, and lists were rewritten and rewritten until it started to get ridiculous. By 2012 I had about 30 songs, some more relevant than others, and still no demoes. I also had regular bouts of listless near-depressions up until then (I hesitate to call them depression, although it was close - I have seen depression up close, in myself and in others, and am not keen to trivialise it), and regularly felt like I was in a catatonic limbo.
What it came down to was that I had a glut of ideas, for albums, for EPs, titles, videos - you name it, I was thinking of it - but no good outlet for any of them. My ideas had outgrown my scope to make them into a listenable thing, music was the one thing I could do, and I was fast struggling for ways to make it creatively satisfying.
Cue Angela Lazenby, Paul Hancock and Matt Tyrer. The band assembling was a first step - my songs became exciting again, the company and friendship was a tonic, and their ideas and talent were like a spark. Then Angela & Paul got studio time at Tremolo sorted, and that first day in, last Saturday, opened up a world of possibilities. Ideas that I have can be passed among the band members, and going into the studio means we can try them. On Sunday, it dawned on me that the one thing that had been dragging me into a fug of nothingness was that I could think of, say, an introduction to the Record I Would Never Get To Record Properly, and there would be no way of making it.
Today, I can text Matt and say "What about putting trombone on 'The Tallest Tree', and he can reply "And how about full brass section and a choir on the last chorus?" This is a whole world of Exciting, isn't it?
John xxx
Monday, 25 February 2013
Day One...
Happy Monday, Blogwatchers!
On Saturday, we went to Tremolo Studios in Silverdale, Staffordshire, to begin our debut record. Everyone was shattered, as the night before we played our debut headline show at Bad Edit venue in Burslem. (It was such an amazing night, thank you if you were there and enjoyed our set - there was dancing, good-natured shouting, and we enjoyed every single song. I woke up on Saturday morning stiff of leg after a very boisterous night, it's safe to say I was highly elated, as were we all!)
Being in the studio was an amazing process. As I wrote this in my notebook, I was listening to the rough mixes of the day's work. We recorded bass, drums and guitar tracks for three tracks, and then recorded proper vocal tracks for the one of those three, including harmonies. The other two songs have guide vocal tracks, which were made during the drums and bass takes for Paul and Angela to follow. For those takes, Paul, Angela and I essentially played live, with my guitar and vocals done as guides, and then my guitar and vocals got replaced with proper, polished takes.
We've set a high standard, I think, both musically and personally. One song, 'Don't Tell The Folks Back Home' had their tracks recorded in one take, and the work we did on all three songs was pretty swift, good-natured, and accurate. And laughing - so much laughing. We are a jolly band. We're back in next week to do the vocal takes for the other two songs, and add more detail to everything, and then a month later to get more basic tracks done for the rest of the record. Dan Rowley, who runs the studio, is a great guy and it's an absolute joy to work with him, I'm really enjoying this.
The really hard thing is going to be keeping a lid on all this work until it's ready to be released, because we're so excited about it, it's sounding amazing already. I've never been so excited! I can tell that the record does have a title, and a set structure, but you'll have to wait to find out what it is!
Have a lovely week everyone, stay happy!
Love,
John xxx
Friday, 22 February 2013
The time is almost upon us...
IMPORTANT BIT
Tickets will be available on the door at Bad Edit, but the Buy One Get One Free offer was exclusive only to tickets from us personally. Please don't expect the venue to run the same deal, the tickets are £5 each.
Finally, our tickets have all but sold out (there is a tiny handful left from us, if you want them), and from the bottom of our hearts, THANK YOU for supporting us, and helping us on the road to making our debut record. We love you for it, and will do our level best to give you a show you'll enjoy.
See you tonight,
John xxx
Monday, 18 February 2013
Finally, I believe that I am happy...
 |
| 10th February, 2013. L-R: Paul Hancock (bass), Angela Lazenby (drums, vocals), John MacLeod (guitars, lead vocals), Matt Tyrer (keyboard, synth, accordion, melodica, vocals) |
Those words don't half come back to haunt you on the first Monday back, when you recall spending at least half each day in bed, and the other half moping around the kitchen, eating toast and forgetting to do the shopping.
I was very glad, then, when I returned to work from a week off that had been very, very productive and fun. The first couple of days, I didn't see anybody, had a massive amount of me time, and that was enough. From Wednesday onwards, I busied myself with band business, we all went to Folk Club at Keele, where I pogoed circuitously and did two revolutions before I had to start singing again, and where Angela knocked my pint over with her face and managed not to get herself any injuries whatsoever. The glass didn't even break! As she said the following day on Twitter: "Drummers are so hard, we glass ourselves!"
The following night we had our first full electric practice, where we went through songs we hadn't played as a four-piece, ironed out creases from songs that we hadn't yet been able to fully realise, and just gave our repertoire some welly. We talked over ideas for recording, among other things, and by the time I went to bed, I was so excited I couldn't actually sleep.
We had a gig in Birmingham on the Sunday (which is where the above photo was taken, by one Lewis Bloor), which was an acoustic set, and we had a lot of fun playing it. Every time we've played, we all seem to have a transcendent moment during 'Six Bodies, Strange Noises' (which I can't wait to play on Friday night - more on that later), where the music just happens, almost unconsciously. And thus ended my week off.
Last night we all went to see the incomparable Nerina Pallot play at The Glee Club. The Pallot is, seemingly, a regular character on this blog, but then she is also a big source of the heart of what I do. Oddly, I am unsure of whether her musical fingerprint is audible on my songs, but emotionally, she's there. One or two songs of mine are direct responses to hers, and with the advent of her new EP, 'Lonely Valentine Club', I think another song has seeded itself in my brain. As yet unwritten, but I know it's there. This was the first time I'd gone to a Nerina show with folk, and so there we sat: Angela and her husband Dan, Paul and his partner Marlz, and Matt. This was a solo acoustic set, preceded by the stylings of Samuel Taylor, a regular pre-Pallot performer whose solid guitar playing is complimented by a steady voice and a clear lyric.
Nerina arrived onstage and launched into 'It Starts' a song about finally being happy and finding true love, and listening to the lyrics, I found I was thinking "That's how I feel about the band now!" which I am fairly sure is a good thing. Anyway, the show was a joy to be present for, as ever, and there was a rather emotional moment partway through, when her husband Andy popped up to the stage to tell her that their son was okay (he hadn't been very well), which lead to a few tears of relief from Nerina, and the acknowledgement that "I was really worried, because he's the love of my life," (a sentence that stood out amongst all others) before composing herself and playing the best rendition of 'Human' that I've ever heard her play.
 |
| Nerina Pallot meets The John MacLeod Band, smiling ensues. |
At this point, I would consider breaking out a few choice epithets on the nature of life, love and happiness, but I really can't be arsed. Like with the gig, I dreamed up some ill-thought-out offers on tickets to try and cater for people who may only want odd numbers of them (oh my, the hare-brained ideas I have, and valiantly try to put into practice, while all around me watch with mute pity), and it got to the point where I couldn't be bothered to repeat them all ad nauseum, so have just kept it to "buy one, get one free". That's all it needs to be.
One more rehearsal to go, then it's Bad Edit, Burslem, this Friday. We have support from two great acts, and the whole night should be lovely. I'm eager, really. We go to the studio the day after, to make a start on what will be our debut LP record, and there are other ideas floating about in the ether, as mentioned earlier, that I am desperate to talk animatedly about, and at length, but for now, be content in the knowledge that we are as excited as I hope you are.
|
| This Friday - we want YOU to be there. Make it happen. |
Um, yes.
John xxx
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