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)

  There has never been a better time to get back on the blog "horse" than now, has there?  So much happening, so little I can actually say.  Not because I am legally obliged to keep schtum, you understand, but because you know how it is.  You tell everyone you are going to do a thing, and then things change.  Always the way, like the day before you have a week off and someone asks what you are going to do with your time.  You tell them "Well, I'm going to record some demoes, maybe have a trip out somewhere for a day, tidy my house, see people, y'know, do the things I don't get chance to do normally."

  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.

  And that brings us to now.  We are on the home stretch to playing our first ever headline show, four months after starting to play together.  I would never have said it would be possible, but two things brought us here - love & enthusiasm.

  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.

  I will sign off now, in the hopes of retaining some of my composure.  Lots of love to you all, if you're reading, and yah-boo V-signs if you're not reading, which, if that is the case, you won't know about.

Um, yes.

John xxx

I don't pretend to know what you want

Good evening, blogwatchers,

  MAN, IT'S COLD.  I just had to open with that.  It's easily forgotten how arduous January can be, and I'm sure you're all being reminded of it as you desperately clamber into your houses, where the heating is on, and press against your living room radiators for all you're worth!  I have just done exactly that, after going to see Faux Feet play at The Sugarmill.  Chatting to their frontwoman Sian about songs afterwards, in response to me enthusing about one of their songs called 'Tribes' (which I can't share with you as it's not been recorded or filmed yet!), and I started to tell a story, which I never got to finish, which is, in part, why I'm telling it here.

  I react really strongly to songs.  My earliest memory of this is going back quite a few years to when I was living with my parents, a silly-headed lad in my late teens (approaching my twenties).  I was really starting to listen to music, and had fallen very much in love with Crowded House.  They were songs that evoked strong imagery, had soaring choruses, and just embedded themselves in my subconscious.  'Distant Sun' was a song that was so uplifting in it's choruses and harmonies that, one night, that optimism and beauty just went straight into my heart, and I found myself crying, happily.

  The next time that happened was under a strange setting.  I was, once upon a time, engaged, and was staying at my fiancee's parents' house for a week (they lived quite a way away, it's a long story). I got on well with them, despite some quite serious ethical issues with what was a simple-yet-complicated situation, and had, in the course of that week, discovered Eels' 'Electro Shock Blues' record.  The thing I connected to with Eels (especially with this record) was this one man who had suffered so much grief, yet although these songs said "Things have never been worse", they also said "but they will get better".  There we sat, in a living room heated by a small log fire, in the middle of the Welsh hills, television on, and I was trying to be happy whilst fuming so vociferously at aspects of the world, that I put my new copy of 'Electro Shock Blues' on my CD walkman, in company, and stared at the TV, wondering how this whole thing would ever straighten out into something resembling happiness, when 'Climbing To The Moon' started.

  The corners of my mouth started to twitch, and I couldn't swallow properly, and I had to leave the room.  I lay in the spare room with the lights off and cried as quietly as I could.  I know that I wasn't crying just at the sadness of the song, but at the beauty with which it was articulated.  It is a beautiful song, no doubt about it, and the emotion of it (and subsequently the whole last half of that record) is there and very, very real.

  The main crux of what I was trying to say to Faux Feet's Sian (and it is curious going from that previous part of the narrative to this, as there is a shared name involved, which has just amused me no end) revolved around the band Jimmy Eat World.  I daresay most people in the UK's introduction to them was the record 'Bleed American' (which was, for some reason, renamed to be an eponymous record), and this was certainly my introduction to them.  I found it to be loud and exciting, and tender, by turns.  Stirring is probably a good word to use, and the same goes for their next records, 'Futures' and 'Chase This Light'.  Digging backwards to their previous records, though, wasn't especially revelatory, save for two songs ('For Me This Is Heaven' and 'Just Watch The Fireworks', both of which can send me into reverie).  This week I bought their most recent album, 'Invented'.  It's just as musically tight and well-produced as ever, but it lacked, for me, the emotional punch and the weight of those previous albums.

  But I know that feeling when it comes, when a song is bursting with life and feeling, and that Faux Feet song, 'Tribes', is loaded with it, because every time they play it, a small flutter goes from my chest to my throat, and I smile.

  It's funny how different songs can get into your head and affect the way you feel, and how other songs just don't do that at all.  It's even more amazing how one can be moved enough to write music oneself.  The songs I write, for example, I really hope that they strike a chord (sorry) with whoever listens to them.  Each one comes from a personal place in one way or another (yet have I to master the art of writing narrative songs that tell a story not belonging to me, and I couldn't honestly say it's a skill that I can imagine myself learning - I am in awe of the Colin Meloys and Tom Waits' of this world for that reason), and they tend to wear my heart on all their sleeves.  It is the music that has made me cry, and laugh, and think, that has made me want to keep writing and playing songs.  It has, in various songs over the years, shown me true feelings, and in doing so hand-delivered a way for me to keep expressing myself in turn.  It's almost as if music, that almost intangible force, is passing a message on, and has been for centuries, through all the myriad people that have put pen to paper, and hand to instrument (although quite what happened as far as speed metal goes, is a bit beyond me).

  I'd like to raise a glass to all the music makers, the people who make us happy, sad, and most of all, not so alone in the world.  It's these reflections of life that give us hope, tell us everything is going to be okay, and that it doesn't matter if we worry, so long as we know that things work out in the end.  I couldn't go a week without hearing the songs that make me stop and have a bit of a happy sob.  I've listed some of them below, why not list yours in return?

Goodnight, sleep well, and keep singing.
Love,
John xxx

Music that has made me go a bit wobbly

• Crowded House - Distant Sun
• Eels - Climbing To The Moon
• Barenaked Ladies - War On Drugs
• Ben Folds Five - Selfless, Cold & Composed
• The Mutton Birds - Last Year's Shoes
• Jimmy Eat World - Hear You Me, For Me This Is Heaven
• Jeff Buckley - So Real, Grace
• Erin Mckeown - Aspera
• Lamb - Gorecki
• Bright Eyes - Landlocked Blues
• Queens Of The Stone Age - Everybody Knows That You Are Insane (that bit in the middle where Josh Homme sings "I feel nothing, am I better yet?" is just powerful)
• Gemma Hayes - At Constant Speed, Keep Running
• Cathy Davey - Sing For Your Supper (those harmonies!)
• Liam Finn - Second Chance
• Nerina Pallot - Learning To Breathe, Human, Blood Is Blood, and the entire 'Year Of The Wolf' record
• Dead Radio Society - Untitled #2
• Bon Iver - Towers
• Lisa Hannigan - I Don't Know
• The Do - Too Insistent
• Clint Mansell - 'Welcome To Lunar Industries (Three Year Stretch)' from the 'Moon' score (I think soundtracks deserve their own separate hall of fame, which I can't be bothered to do, as I've been writing this for a while now, and it's late/early, depending on your perspective.  Can you measure a person's personality by how they view this time of day?  A bit like the glass half full/half empty, if they say it's late or early at 2am, what must that tell you about their personality?  If a person just says "It's 2am!" that could either mean they view things in a very literal context, or it could mean that they've been trying to sleep and it's probably time to stop playing the drums.)

2012 - A Year Of Even More Musical Plentierer

Happy New Year, Blogwatchers!

  My customary cup of tea is by my side, and I have lost my voice.  I was to have done a webcast on my Ustream channel tonight, but since that's out of the window, I shall prattle and rave and bellow from behind my computer keyboard.  (Behind?  Or am I in front of this thing?  It's all down to what you perceive the back of this computer to be, a conversation for which my appetite dwindles by the very second.)  I dimly recall shoving a few of my favourite 2011 musical moments at you this time last year, so I shall do something similar here now, while I wait for my voice to return.  

Stuff I Loved Doing This Year
  2012 started off with me playing an extended guest slot at The Rigger's open mic night, which was a jolly way to begin it (and it produced a really nice recording of 'Imagine If We Fell In Love' that I use on a for-sale-at-gigs CD), and my giggery continued in a steady vein throughout the year, seeing me make appearances on Moorlands FM radio, and the Stoke Sounds show on 6 Towns Radio.

  2012 also saw the birth of 'Song Club', an idea from Andrew Tranter (who sings in a group called 'Headsticks' - more on them later), for an evening of music at the Old Brown Jug in Newcastle-under-Lyme, with local songwriters and bands, original songs only - no covers, and as stripped-down as possible.  There were several of these during the year, nearly all of which I attended, and some of which I was lucky enough to play at, and I hope there's going to be more this year.  My favourite one to play was in October where, despite having had a raging cold, I made myself well enough to play, it being on my birthday.  Andrew made me a set of t-shirts and a hoodie to give away as part of a Birthday Raffle, and I bought a few locally sourced CDs, along with board games, so the prizes were a bit super.  It was such a fun gig, and completely worth waking up the following morning with a voice similar to the one I've got now.

  During 2012, Andy staged a couple of Song Clubs in other venues - one at The Albion during Newcastle's Jubilee Music Festival, and one at Middlewich Folk And Blues Festival, the latter being a bit worrisome as our arrival prompted to the staff to have not known anything about it, and then (once they discovered that we were on the bill), insist there wasn't a PA system for us.  Well, not until they remembered there was one.  It swiftly turned from a gig we were going to want to forget, to an afternoon of much fun and good music.  I salute Mr. Tranter for making an intimate, cosy evening of music.  He worked bleedin' hard to make all those Song Clubs happen.

  Another favourite gig of mine was the Stoke Sounds Sessions concert in August, held at The Sugarmill, Hanley.  This was only my second gig with my new guitar (named 'Lola' by Bryony, who co-manages my internet faffery), and was on the Sugarmill's roof terrace.  There were local acts playing either on the main stage indoors, or on the roof, and the weather held (despite some menacing cloud action), and among all the acts playing, I got to see Aaron Mobberley and Faux Feet (with whom I'd shared the billing two days previously, at 6 Towns Radio's 'Oatcake Day' charity event - more on them later), and so in the space of 72 hours, made some new friends.  Night landed pretty swiftly during my set, which was quite amusing until I realised I couldn't see the markings on my guitar neck.  One highlight as I was playing was the intense silence as I was about to play 'Imagine If...', which I remarked upon, then two chords into the song, someone emptied a skip for glass bottles.

  It was also good to see a dedicated venue set up in Burslem, Stoke, this year.  Bad Edit, situated at the Old Post Office Gallery (where I went to college in 1996-98 for a BTEC in Performing Arts, interestingly) next to the Queens Theatre, set up a base of operations to become a home for live music and art installations.  Carl, from Bad Edit, said that they aim to be as malleable as possible for whoever wants to use the building, so that whatever they want to do, within reason, can be staged at the venue.  It looks like a brilliant hive of creativity, with art projects in progress in the back room, a stage and PA in the main room, which can potentially be rearranged any which way to facilitate music and art.  My band & I can't wait to play there.

  Oh!  My band.  That's the big thing I'm taking from 2012.  I speak of them often, and 2013 will be a year in which we come and play lots of music for you, I hope.  Paul Hancock, back in 2011, was asked by Paul Oldfield (former presenter of Moorlands FM's music show) if he knew anyone who would want to do a session and interview, after someone had pulled out at the last minute.  He suggested me, pointed him at my Facebook and I accepted the invitation.  I often cite that moment as the thing that made concentrate on music again, after quite a while in hibernation.  It's rather lovely that, a year and a half later, he and Angela Lazenby asked if I was still on the hunt for musicians, because not only does it make the 2011 radio story somewhat serendipitous, but in bringing Angela into the group he has managed to make everybody happy that it's all happening.  Matthew Tyrer and I were plotting ventures of some sort together in the interim, so when this came up, the timing was perfect.  He and I have played together a lot these last three years (three years?!) and I don't think I could have conceived him not being involved.  These three people have given me great cheer this year, musically and personally.  I've made new friends, and it's just been a joy to see the music connecting people together.  I love them.

  Paul, Angela & I supported Headsticks at the start of December, in The Rigger, and as first gigs go, it was pretty memorable.  Made more so by the police doing a whistlestop tour of Newcastle-under-Lyme on a series of drug raids.  We were three songs into our first ever set, when an overabundance of fluorescent jackets filled the pub and a sniffer dog went around the premises (they also, I am told, went to The Cherry Tree and interrupted 30 teachers having a Christmas do, during which the dog put its nose up someone's dress).  We waited ten/fifteen minutes to resume the set, by which time the mood needed a bit of reigniting.  Cracking stuff!

  There have been an awful lot of exciting and charming gigs that I've played in 2012, and can't thank the people who asked me to play them heartily enough.  Greg Murray, Nicola Jayne Chirnside and the Venombase crew, Headsticks, Annette Bellyou, Charlotte Lunt from Stoke Sounds, Carl at Bad Edit Studios, Tami Gomez at The Rigger, Nick Bayes, Matt Taylor at The Full Moon, Lee Barber at Radicals Rising, Terry Bossons from 6 Towns Radio, Steve at The Grapes in Stafford, Hayley Gaftarnick at Verve Bar, Leeds (who kindly gave me somewhere to sleep after my last set there, much to the surprise of her housemate, who had lost her phone and didn't know I was staying - sorry!), Michael Linford, Glyn Andrews and Gary Wilcox (not to mention Paul, John and Kirsty) at Moorlands Music, Chris Wilson at The Sugarmill, Bryony Mounter, and anyone I've missed from this extensive list of nice people.  Thank you for being a pleasure to know.

[There will now be a break while I eat pizza]

[I am returned, having scoffed a 6-slice pizza, which lasted precisely the amount of time it took to watch an episode of Tom Baker's Doctor Who serial 'Pyramids Of Mars', which always acts as a timely reminder that no matter what the production values, suspension of disbelief is an absolute must, or you will point and laugh at bad accents and odd costumes.  Also, sometimes it's good just to point and laugh at bad accents and odd costumes.]

Stuff I Loved This Year
  Where 2011 was a year when a lot of my favourite bands/musicians released new (and brilliant) albums, 2012 was a year where artists previously unknown to me released albums and I loved them.  It also saw me being introduced to local musicians for the first time, and loving their work.  Some of the music I present in this blog entry may not have been made in 2012, but it was the year when I happened upon it, and clasped it to my very bosom.  Hope you enjoy it.

11: Dumb Ways To Die
  I will start this off with something adorable, grim, and funny.  It's catchy as well, so it ticks more boxes than one would think previously existed.  From the Australian Metro safety campaign:



10:  Regina Spektor - 'All The Rowboats'
  My friends Jenny and Antony enthused about this song when it appeared on Soundcloud, and I listened to it and was similarly gripped.  The album, 'What We Saw From The Cheap Seats', is superb, with some real moments of playfulness, and very clever songwriting.  This song itself is a brilliantly dark and left-field piece.



9:  Headsticks - 'Pay The Price'
  The work of Andy Tranter & co, Headsticks were a duo up until September 2012, when they decided to branch out and acquired bass player Nick Bayes and drummer Tom Carter.  Even now, rumours persist of a fifth Headsticker, but as yet, this is shrouded in mystery.  This is a song of theirs that always goes down well at their shows!



8:  Lisa Hannigan - 'I Don't Know'
  You know when you hear a song that is so gleeful and soaring and positive that they sheer joy of it makes you do a happy cry?  I know that feeling all too well, and this song got me.  Specifically, this performance of it, as the shared enjoyment and friendship of playing songs with people who 'get' each other shines through.  I love this video, and her songs are why Lisa Hannigan is one of my favourite finds of the year.  Enjoy!



7:  Marc O'Reilly - 'Get Back'
  I saw Marc O'Reilly at The Sugarmill, in a show he was co-headlining with Aaron Mobberley.  It was just him on stage, and he wowed the audience with his dexterity on the fretboard, his soulful voice, and his wit.  He is a brilliant songwriter, leaving you wondering which parts of his songs come first (he answers that in this video), but I think there's no doubt that he takes each idea and elaborates it as far as it will comfortably go, creating a complex and whirlwind performance.  I really hope I get to see him again soon.



6:  Aaron Mobberley - 'Unison Harmonies'
  Marc O'Reilly leads nicely to Mr. Aaron Mobberley, one of the nicest chaps I've met this year, a skilful guitarist and a great songwriter, which has been further underlined by the quality of his recently-assembled band.  Having first seen him play a couple of acoustic sets, it was great to see a stage full of musicians let rip with his songs.  There is a certain shyness to his stage presence, which makes the shows more human, as it really is about the music.



5:  Lianne La Havas - 'Is Your Love Big Enough?'
  Finding Lianne La Havas was one of those happy accidents.  A friend of mine had 'liked' her on Facebook, and curiosity of the "I've heard that name somewhere before" sort lead me to look at her music page, the most recent post on which was a link to the video for 'Is Your Love Big Enough?', which is a rather marvellous selection of clips from a recent tour (I love that sort of music video).  The album, of the same name, was out not long afterwards, and it is a gorgeous record that has a good mix of pace and mood.  Here's the video that started it:




4:  Nerina Pallot - 'The Hold Tight'
  This song was revealed during a webcast on Halloween, a song which will most likely be on the record that she's currently working on.  I love a good bit of 6/8 time, as my band have discovered in going through some of my songs in rehearsal (there's still another one that we haven't gotten to yet!), it's a time signature that really makes my legs move.  And as always there's something about the lyrics (especially in the chorus, where, in addition, I love how the word "just" is used percussively, something that I really like about her songwriting).  This performance of 'The Hold Tight' is from her Christmas show at The Tabernacle, Islington.



3:  Faux Feet - 'Down'
  Faux Feet, one of the bands with whom I'm pleased as punch to have come into contact, have a heady mix of storming lead guitar, solid, powerful drums, and thumping, driving bass.  Aided and abetted by Sian Matthews' synth, guitar and vocals, they have an ability to hit you with songs that leave you repeating a haunting lyric.  Their song 'Tribes' is my favourite, but they haven't recorded it yet, so waiting for their next EP in the hope that it'll be there is excruciating.  They're a great group of people, and this video is footage from a show in September 2012.



2:  Alt J - 'Breezeblocks'
  I was in a car.  The car was driving to Birmingham.  Beside me was Matt Tyrer.  In front of me was Romas Masteika.  Driving the car was Sam Hayler.  They put Alt J's album on the stereo.  Parfait.  I don't actively seek out new music, it has to be said (hence why a lot of my "discoveries" are at least a couple of years old - case in point Number 1 in this list, below), so to hear something new, and hearing the whole piece of work from start to finish was exciting.  'Breezeblocks' came on and Sam & Matt did the a wonderful vocal rendition of the closing part of the song.  It was joyous.  Unlike this video, which is a bit dark and very clever.



1:  Janelle Monae - 'Many Moons'
  This is what I mean by finding stuff that's been out ages.  I remember hearing 'Tightrope' on BBC 6 Music (back in the day where I used to get up early enough to hear some of the breakfast show before leaving the house), but never really investigated, so one day I walked past a copy of the album, picked it up, bought it, and took it home.  Such a great record, with a fairly comprehensive concept and story.  After listening to 'The ArchAndroid', I happened upon this song, from the EP that precedes it.  The drum part for this song is still stuck in my head.



So there we are.  All in all, it's been a good year, full of friendship and music, and I think I've laughed more this year than I did the year before.  I have tried not to make this blog entry too punishing, and in the interests of fairness, it's only right that I leave off now.  I hope you like these songs, and that you have enjoyed reading this.  If not, refunds are available at the point of purchase.

Lots of love, have a happy 2013!
John xx

Several shakes of a spoonful of mayonnaise

  Lummy, it's as if I'm giving you all my thoughts in one dollop, isn't it?  Or, if I am to make this simile more accurate, several shakes of a spoonful of mayonnaise.  As is nearly always the case with these blog entries, I am sitting on a train, after having played my last show of 2012, at The Sun On The Hill in Birmingham.  There is a couple sitting in the seats behind me, necking quite audibly, and the only thing I can think, instead of your usual "that sort of thing shouldn't be be done in public," is that I'd sort of forgotten what that sounds like.

  I ought to admit that I'm not really much of a prude when it comes to Public Displays Of Affection.  If two people kiss in the street, I'm actually happy that they've found each other amid this sea of bastards and cretins, and that they are not so self-conscious that they feel they have to hide it.  Obviously, if they're on the verge of copulating in the street, then they need to get themselves home sharpish.

  Even all that business with my previous neighbours this year - I didn't begrudge them their bedroom hi-jinx, it was just uncanny that they managed to get it on whenever I was reading, or going to sleep.  I wonder where they are living now?  I do hope it's a detached house, or, at the very least, an end terrace.

  It is funny how things can shape your year.  Up until October, as soon as the headboard started rattling, it would set off an agony of longing, as if someone who you fancy was stroking your neck, and would continue so to do, on the proviso that you didn't react to it.  There were times when the sound of them having a funny conversation (the walls really are that thin in this house) was like being forced to experience old memories, ones you hadn't yet reconciled as being part of your past, and ones that, if nudged gently enough, would suddenly feel like part of the present.

  (The kissing woman has left the train at Wolverhampton, she's very pretty.  Her partner in lip-lock, still on the train, looks like a cross between one of those long-handled retractable brushes you can get to sweep the corner of your ceiling, and an anally-traumatised ferret.  Opposites do attract...)

  Anyway, the strange thing was when they moved out, it was as if they took my past with them. , and that "agony of longing" went too (but not before I'd written a some reasonably intense songs on the subject).  Ever since then, the music got a better foothold on the scheme of things, and I decided that the only way I would ever be happy would be if I kept moving forwards and doing what I love, as closely as possible to how I want to do it (which in itself, now that I think about it, is another "agony of longing").

  This makes me think of the piece I wrote yesterday, and also of something I wanted to include in it, but never managed to wrangle the words in that direction...

  Last weekend, as I mentioned previously in this blog, I went to Nerina Pallot's Christmas show, and my good friend Michael Linford, whom I have not seen since May (but have kept in digital contact), was there.  He has just written a book, 'Music For The End Of The World', and part of his mission, as well as writing the book, getting it published, and into the world, is to stand up for the little-known, independent writers, artists and musicians that don't get heard much outside their own hometown circles. (I have just seen a train platform guard wearing a Santa hat.)

  Mike and I were shooting the breeze at The Tabernacle, as we waited for Samuel Taylor to start his support set, and talk turned to Sports Personality Of The Year, and the sporting year that 2012 had been for the UK, generally.  He said (and here I wish harder than anything for an eidetic memory, because the amount of detail I could give about this conversation would be very useful) that all the money that gets pumped into achieving 'sporting excellence', and finding Britain's highest-achieving sportspeople (this year's Olympics being a prime example) could, and should, also be directed towards finding Britain's most deserving creative people.  I don't think people like Michael & I should be given special treatment, but imagine if, instead of creative pursuits being regarded as a hobby, or something you do in the background to "a proper job", they were more widely recognised as a trade, the creation of a thing.  Imagine if people looked as earnestly to find a good band as they did to find the best runner, or swimmer, or cyclist.

  I'm not for one minute saying those searches are unworthy, but the thing I find upsetting is that when you say, in my example, that you're a singer-songwriter, the first reaction is "Why don't you go on X-Factor?"  I have lost count how many times I have politely rebuffed the notion of this in conversation.  Not to knock the good intention behind it, but there is something about these talent shows that I do not trust.  With one or two exceptions, it is not the stepping stone to a productive, and creative career.  It is a marvellous vehicle for a certain record label, and no doubt a very useful boost to the coffers come Christmas time when the winner's single is released, but is it really celebrating the nation's musical talent?  There is so much to this format that could be a positive reinforcement to people for whom music really is the driving force behind their every breath, but until it lays down the foundations of an artist's development, so that they produce interesting work as they get older, and gives the prospect of a career, I could never give the programme a second glance.

  That's not to say that if there were something worth trying, I wouldn't enter it, though...

  Anyway.  I've gone on for ages now, and have even stopped writing this by hand, as I am back home.  The last two paragraphs happened on my computer.  What started off as questionable handwriting has become normal-sized Hevetica in a text-box on my screen.  I feel a little bad that my notebook contains an unfinished blog entry, maybe I will copy the last three paragraphs longhand into it, for closure's sake.

  2012 (I may have said this somewhere before) has been quite an exciting year.  I've gigged regularly, I've written songs that I really love playing, and I've made new friends, and some of them (combined with old friends) enjoy playing songs with me and launching them into the stratosphere.  All in all, it's been quite magical.  If you want to read Michael Linford's book, you can order it here or here.  Just be sure, once you've finished it, to leave a review on the site where you bought it.  I can't wait to do precisely that.

  I will sod, as they say, off now, but given all my talk of writing songs, published authors and suchlike, will leave you with this paragraph from a book of essays/a recipe/short stories by the aforementioned Nerina Pallot, which sums things up about creativity rather nicely:

  Of course a book, or song, or crocheted bed-jacket, or film, or painting - literally any result of creativity - is like a child.  You might help it into being, you might recognise the odd brushstroke or familiar melodic motif as your own, but really, it's as if you had nothing to do with it.  It was always there, just waiting for everybody to notice it.  Any song is just the sound of 'life's longing for itself'.  (Yes.  Even the 'Macarena'.)  Creativity is a constant quest for true connection, because words are only ever signifiers in the end; and when it's done right, it is the thing itself, the agency of love in action.  And it belongs to everybody, but it means only what it means to you.  Isn't that wonderful?  Doesn't it make you feel less alone?  I don't know about you, but creativity keeps me warm at night, and it stops my heart from breaking at five o'clock in the afternoon.

If curious, you can find this book here - It really is a wonderful read.

We shall see if another blog entry appears before 2013 - It's about right that I don't blog for weeks on end, then pour out about four or five within a week.  Peaks and troughs, always.  In the meantime, goodnight, and sleep well.

Merry Christmas,
Love,
John xx

P.S:  My gig tonight was fun, and I enjoyed it.

Moderation isn't as bad as you think it is, in moderation

  I am not the sort of drunk you would want at your party.  I am more fun to you sober.  Back when I was a naive teenager (all the way through to being a naive twenty-something, as opposed to now, where I am a naive thirty-something), people I went to college/university/work with wondered what I would be like if they got me blotto.  The answer is reasonably straightforward, but for the fact it's me giving the answer, ergo it might go around the houses a bit.

  I was barely 17, and was invited to a birthday party the day before the day before New Year's Eve - it was 1997, I think.  I mingled with my college chums, drank a can or two of beer, and elected to leave it at that.  I parked myself on a settee during a bout of karaoke.  Being the naive, trusting sort, any time I was offered a glass of orange juice, or lemonade was a welcome refreshment, not a cue to suspiciously sniff each glass for traces of spirits (not least because I didn't have a clue what spirits smelled like - naif barely covers it).  Until I stood up, and realised I had little to no coordination of my eyes or limbs, I felt fine.  Then it became evident that something was up, and one by one, my classmates all admitted they'd poured "a few other drinks" into my orange juice.  I stood in the kitchen, evening ruined, knocking back glasses of water and apologising for having been spiked by everyone else.  And then everyone found out what happens when you get me drunk.

  I decorate your bathroom with sick.

  Oh, the shame.  I can still remember being slightly too late getting upstairs, and just launching my guts at walls, the floor, you name it, everywhere except the loo.  I can remember the poor birthday girl's parents, mopping up the mess.  I can remember the echo of my voice as it apologised from the bowl of the sink.  (Porcelain is very cooling, isn't it?)  I can remember saying sorry to Dad, as the back of my head really took in the texture of the passenger seat's headrest while he drove me back home.  I can remember hearing Mum say to Rachael, my sister, "Just stay in your room for a few minutes," as I staggered upstairs, cleaned my teeth, and went to bed.

  All of this happened before 10:45pm.

  I know exactly what my alumni were hoping for.  You know how there's the sort of person who, with a few sniffs of the barmaid's apron, becomes the life and soul of the party, dancing on your coffee table, ringing taxi companies for a laugh and trying to tie a washing line to next door's pitbull terrier before setting a firework off from the roof of your shed and legging it home?  I am not that kind of drunk.  I am no fun, unless your favourite kind of inebriate is the one who sits at the table, staring at the grain in the wood, and thinking about things past.  There is also the point where I just fall asleep (such is my introspection that I kind of crumble in on myself), and that becomes fun for people, for a bit.  There is that hi-larious five minutes when we next meet up, and all my friends show me the photo of myself, sideways on a settee, face buried in the cushions, after everyone had coated me in toilet paper.  I'm that drunk.  I have seen photos of me passed out on a settee during a work's cocktail night (of which, sadly, I am not in possession).  I also took this photo of myself the morning after said cocktail night, as a reminder:

2004, post cocktail-night.  Note the greenish tinge to my face.  For the rest of that day I ran a shop from the back room with my head in my hands.

  I prefer to be in control of myself.  Always have done.  This, even now, baffles me as to why I have chosen to plod a path with, in so many ways, little control.  Far less control than you might think.  I believe that when music chooses you to communicate through it (and I do think, faintly, that music does choose you, after a fashion), that very process affords you very little decision-making, in terms of "career path".

  (At this point, we skirt around the very tricky issue of how much choice anything in life gives you, and how all our lives appear to be spent reacting to whatever circumstance throws at us, be it love, death, children, disease, cardigans, accidents, food poisoning, eviction, or finding out that you're responsible for the welfare of seventeen children after a set of freak paternity cases proves you to be the legitimate guardian of all of them bar one, who, it transpires, belongs to an estranged uncle.  We can only skirt around this, as it is rather late and I have been out bowling, and if I carry on, my nose will be touching the keyboard.)

  (It is now the next day, I have slept, made a cup of tea to drink in bed - which I just about stomached, although the milk was, I believe, "on the turn" - and found my hastily-discarded work shirt from yesterday draped on the toilet seat before I shaved and left the house to go bowling.)

  So, where was I?  Control!  I decided quite early on, after having one or two tipsy gigs, and seeing some quite severely drunk people playing music at muted audiences, that music was no fun if you were completely out of it, and the self-conscious quality I own when under the influence came to the fore yet further when on stage and slightly steaming.  The one thing music deserves is dedication and focus.  You can have the best ideas in the world (or at least in your hometown, or at the very least in your own house), but if you aren't compos mentis enough to physically and mentally interpret and broadcast them, you won't be able to achieve much, positively speaking.  In this interview with Zane Lowe on Radio 1, celebrating 2002's 'Songs For The Deaf' record, Queens Of The Stone Age's Josh Homme rather nicely articulates what I'm getting at:

Zane Lowe: At the time, you guys were also known for enjoying yourselves when you were on the road, and I think it's safe to say - without sending the wrong message to anyone listening who's impressionable - that you were considered a drinking band, and possibly even considered a drug band, and considered a band that enjoyed a good time, and lived your life freely.  'Songs For The Deaf' sounds so focused, does that feel like it captures that time for you as well, or were you completely focused on the record when you were making it?

Josh Homme:  "Well, I mean, we always had the philosophy that you can be who you want to be in 'Queens...', you know, and so I think in a lot of ways we got that notoriety because we were a sanctuary for a lot of people that just wanted to be themselves.  We never sort of judged, or told you what you needed to do.  But one thing that we always had was you could do whatever you wanted, as long as you work first, and if you're going to be a 'party person', you party after.  And that's still the ethic that the band has, that, you know, you should be yourself, but you owe it to everyone else to work first, and I think that's what always makes a difference, that you work hard first."

  I suppose this is why I don't drink much, and have never been tempted to "dabble".  I enjoy the way my brain sifts through the world, and reconciles it to day-to-day life, and aside from the fear of addiction, there is the fear that I could irrevocably damage the way I see the world, and the way I look at things.  The way I perceive my personality to work is that I am fairly excitable, and have a rather crooked slant on the world, which either produces very silly jokes, or songs that I am particularly proud of.  Imagine if I took something that interfered with my brain chemistry in such a way that I never looked at anything that way again.  Ever.  I am terrified of that ever happening.

  And so we get to the reason that control is the theme of this little diatribe.  As I said earlier, there is less control than one might think when pursuing music (and I am pursuing it), or at least, to do it the way you truly want to, unless you're massively lucky.  This is not to say gigs aren't fun and exciting, but we all dream of that gig in a theatre, and a rapt, attentive crowd (nay, audience), and we dream of going on a tour, of being able to make records and of getting as many people as possible to hear our music.  This makes the gig where you're playing one of your more lilting ballads, and battling against the pub drunk for volume, so heartbreaking.  You come off stage, knowing that you had a good time, but that one guy's "BEHHHHAHAHAHAHHAHEEERGH!" laugh really knackered your flow, and were it not such bad grace to do so, you would have stamped your little feet and demanded that the world stop and acknowledge how hard you were working, because this, after all, was supposed to be your moment.

  It wasn't your moment.  Not to the world at least, only to you.  And in all honesty, every moment is your moment, you just have to know how to play it.  But the best way to play it is with clarity and positivity.  I have played some lovely gigs this year, and some great moments have come out of them, and that control over my music has been strengthened by sharing it with three wonderful musicians.  I hope that 2013 allows some more options, and more magical adventures which I can share with you via the medium of technology (although mostly, not to mention preferably, via the even more magical medium of you being in the room with us as we play).

  Control comes from taking the music in your head, arranging it into a good song, and doing what you can with it.  It takes the love of music, and harnessing the enthusiasm that your band has for it (I am very lucky that my band get behind my songs as much as they do - we get it right in practice, right down to the mood of the song, and we're all mentally hugging each other, not physically though, because you can't properly hug someone over, say a drum-kit, a synth, or an accordion).

  Enjoy riding this year out and travelling into the next, and please don't associate bits of this blog post as a cry for Prohibition, more as a cry for clarity and positivity.  The darker your times, the less good drinking will be to you.  You don't make problems go away, they just come back stronger.  The more you deal with life head on, the more having a drink actually feels like a nice thing to do.

  In the meantime, here is the free-to-download podcast I made with Paul Hancock and Angela Lazenby from my band.  Merry Christmas!



Lots of Festive Love,
John xx

"How many of you have ever had to put your hand up a hot goose?"

  My train is leaving London.  Sadly, it's too dark to watch it properly, so I get brief glimpses of train platforms, and lights floating past the window at varying speeds, depending on how far away they are from us.

  I have had a few conversations over the last couple of years, about what living in the capital would be like.  My position has changed considerably over this time, initially having been "No, never, I'd be too lonely, and too intimidated."  I have since decided that the way you deal with your surroundings and similar situations comes from within, and that you are only as lonely as you allow yourself to be.  My state of mind these days is such that I wouldn't be feeling that way for long, and that big city fear has gone away slightly.

  That's not to say my feelings on things London are not still with a degree of reticence, but it is now purely on the basis of that concept - 'London Prices.'  The fact that that is the prime factor of resistance really rankles, because the thing I find fascinating about London (or the idea of London) is the potential to discover pockets of artistic (specifically, in my case, musical) communities, and networks of creative folk, and finding things that are happening in these sorts of fields.  For example, my sister has lived in London for a couple of years (hence the conversations I've been having), and has made friends on her university course.  In a short space of time, she has gone to a screening of a documentary by Mark Gatiss (with Mr. Gatiss sitting directly behind her during said screening), been to a test run-through of material for Radio 4's 'Cabin Pressure' with John Finnemore, and also attended a recording of the same programme!  So, I can only imagine what adventures I could get myself into, were I a Londoner, with a little perseverance!

  This is why my feelings on big city living have softened, and the thing that will no doubt always remain is "What if I suddenly couldn't afford to live there?" or worse, never being able to afford to live there whilst living there.

  As mentioned earlier, I am writing this on a moving train, with the intention of typing it up later.  What is making this really difficult is that there is no flip-down tray on the back of the seats, and as such, there's nowhere to rest my notebook so I'm resting it on my coat, which is, in turn, on my lap.  Only now am I looking back at my scribbling  and praying that by the time I sit at my computer to put it on Blogger, I will be able to decipher this mess of pen-strewn pages.  It's not too bad for the most part, but every so often we go over a bumpy bit of track, and my e's often look enough like c's as it is.

  (Also, I've just peered down the train and it looked as if someone was sleeping on the luggage rack!  Panic over, it's a coat with a fur hood & a pink scarf draped over it.  Look!)

Coat and scarf, thrown on the luggage rack.  It looks like a woman with her hand draped over the edge.  I nearly messed myself...

  Here's something I was considering the other week, regarding dreams and the workings of the subconscious.  A couple of weekends ago, I had a dream that I was visiting a bunch of friends (during this visit, Sam asked me why I kissed his girlfriend - a detail he found endlessly entertaining when I told him the following day), and as we were walking along a road, one of my party clambered up on top of a wall, lay down and just rolled off it.  The landing he made resulted in a loud "WHAM!" noise, and he bounced away down the road, whamming merrily away.

  I woke up, and the sound of my friend's repeated impact on the tarmac continued, which is the sort of thing that will always be quite unnerving.  Being not entirely awake, I dashed to the window to see if the poor sod was bouncing down my street, then realised the sound was coming from my new neighbours,* and that it was actually the sound of a man shoulder-barging a door.  At three in the morning.  It went on for about two hours, with no other sounds - no shouting, no speaking, just "WHAM!  WHAM!  WHAM!"** and I'm still not sure why it happened. He could have been doing that in his sleep (you'd have to be if you're doing that for two hours), as it had never happened before (and it's not happened since).

  But here's the weirdy bit:  We've all had dreams where our radio alarm has filtered a song into our heads, but this was the first time that a loud noise from next door had insinuated itself in a perfectly logical way (despite the actual content of the dream being utter nonsense).  This lead me to think about how the subconscious processes external stimuli depending on whether we're awake or asleep.

  For example, when you're awake, you process sights, sounds and smells immediately (or seemingly so), but in this instance my ears physically received the sound, and my subconscious created a context in which the loud barging of the door would make sense to my dreaming brain.  It's as if there's a satellite delay in the reception of the noise (ear to consciousness), while my brain processes it into something that won't jar me awake.  Or something.  Maybe.

  So, while you're all thinking about that (and please do offer me your thoughts on that if you like - I'd be curious to know what you think!), now seems like a good time to tell you what a great weekend I've just had (after the sort of week that really made me feel as if I was incapable of doing anything without getting stumped at every hurdle).  I have been to The Tabernacle in Islington, for Nerina Pallot's Christmas Extravaganza.  It was a great gig, the music was fantastic, as always, and lots of fun was had as we enjoyed the sets by Samuel Taylor and Nerina & her band.  I also loved meeting friends I haven't seen for seven months, and it had better not be as long again when I see them next!

  Nerina and her husband Andy work so bloody hard, and they do so much for the people who love her music, be it webcasts, EPs, special gigs, you name it (Nerina made about 150 mince pies for yesterday's shindig), and so much time is made to try and talk to everybody in attendance, it's just untrue.  There is so much goodwill in the room for her gigs, I have never seen anything quite like it.  For all those things, and add to that her songwriting and quality of performance, she will always be a shining role model of how a good musician should be, with one of the best attitudes in the business.  I salute the Chatterleys, they are an absolute delight.

  Plus, how many gigs do you go to where you are asked "How many of you have ever had to put your hand up a hot goose?"

  None.  That's how many.

  Back to the train home.  A large man has sat next to me, and is scribbling in and reading a book entitled 'The Big Book Of Brewing'.  I really don't know what to make of this.  Wow, this bit of track's quite bumpy!  I shall sign off, with a cramping hand and readiness for a cup of tea in my own house.

[Which, now that I've finished typing this up, I shall make!]
John xxx

*I have new, non-sexing neighbours.  There is barely a sound from there now, except for their plumbing, which seems to be horrifically loud, all of a sudden.  Every flush of the toilet produces an odd clanking sound, I can only assume that they've had the cistern moved upstairs, while the toilet remains on the ground floor.  Bit too nervous to knock on and ask, in all honesty.
**Please keep any jokes about George Michael & Andrew Ridgeley finding a third band member to yourself.  Thank you.

Conversations You Will Never Have

Bob:  Alright Terry, where of you been?
Terry:  I of just been to the shop for a bottle of milk and some luminous key-straighteners.
Bob:  Did they of what you were looking for?
Terry:  Nah, I'll of to get the bus into town and try there.
Bob:  Terry?
Terry:  Yes, Bob?
Bob:  Could you get a dictionary while you're out?  I of got a sneaking suspicion that the word "of" served no relevant purpose in our chat.
Terry:  Apart from when I said "bottle of milk"?
Bob:  Apart from that, Aye.
Terry:  I'll ask them if they of one in stock.
Bob:  Champion.